


WISWOs and ATOs and John Watson Swore He’d Never Do That… Not Again

by Ewebie



Category: Bluestone 42 (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Go watch Bluestone 42 and then you'll get it... these people are amazing, John deserves many medals, M/M, No one asked for this crossover... ok wait... Jam did., Sherlock has a soldier boner, There's a lot of bad language in this...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 52
Words: 27,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: Jam asked me for a crossover... I can't tell her no. Please understand that the Bluestone 42 characters are kept (mostly) in line with their show personalities. This means that Nick is an asshole you can't help but love, Bird is "just one of the lads", Towerblock is a Leeds man and proud of it, Simon is a bit of a dick, and Rocket and Mac are... loveable idiots. Some of the jokes are running gags from the show (particularly the stereotypes). Mag Aoidh and Llewellyn new additions. Most of the side characters have appeared in Bluestone 42 at various points in time. Y'all know Sherlock and John (please don't ask me when in the BBC timeline this happens... I honestly don't know).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts).



> Plan is for once weekly updates on this--Ficlet Friday returns!  
> I tried for twice weekly, but my job is kicking my butt and that's not going to fly. Nothing like real world life-or-death to keep me from being creative...  
> (yes, the chapters are all very very short. This is on purpose. Plus, it's supposed to read like the show, hence the jumps between scenes... it's new for me)
> 
> I'll update the tags as this goes. (I'll update the rating if needed...)
> 
> If you have any questions about any of the jokes... I'm open to messages. If nothing else... Everyone should go watch Bluestone 42.

“Well that was far fucking louder than I expected.”

“Boss?!”

Nick tossed his pack at Towerblock. “I don’t know about you chaps, but I prefer my controlled detonations to be controlled. Not a first time, fumbling, finger-bang in the back of a Greggs loo, with which I can only assume you are all too familiar!”

“Loo!” Mac sniggered.

“Fuck off!” Rhys snapped.

“There’s a loo in Greggs?” Rocket scrunched his face.

“Ask you mother,” Nick cut him off. “Not that I mind a dirt shower with the hoi polloi every now and then, but I only schedule one per month. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected luxury?”

“Remote switch,” Towerblock offered.

“On all five?” He pulled out a cigarette and propped himself against the mastiff. “They aren’t that clever.”

“Daisy-chain,” Mag Aoidh offered, brandishing a water bottle. “How’s yer head?”

“My head is fine. I’m still not sure about my balls. Check them for me?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Check them yerself.”

“This is the third time in two weeks it’s very nearly been just about half-past ten. And frankly, I’m sick of it.” He chucked the cigarette in favor of the water.

“Been wah?” Towerblock shifted the gear as they headed for the back of the CV.

“Raining men.” Bird flashed a wry smile and patted his chest. “Just like the discos you went to up North.”

“Not everyone has the same fantasies as you, Bird.” Nick smacked the top of her helmet as he passed. “Now, Paddy, why a daisy-chain?”

Mag Aoidh frowned at him. “Why the feck not?”

“Is that what you would do?” Simon scowled at her two-finger salute as if it were unexpected.

“I studied with the EOD.”

“Convenient.” 

“Enough, Simon. Mac? Rocket?” Nick bobbed his head towards the mastiff. “Shall we fuck off home?” He was met with a collective ‘Aye!’ from the pair. “Then pull out your thumbs and let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, Lieutenant Colonel Smith.” Mycroft rose and extended his hand. The handshake was firm, but not overly so. No posturing, no show of force. Civil. Prompt. Military. Official. He gestured to the empty chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wish it was pleasure, Mr. Holmes. Though I cannot tell you how lovely it is to have a civilised chat on British soil over a nice cup of tea.”

“Quite,” Mycroft lifted his cup in invitation. “To business?”

“Mmn,” Smith gave a nod. “I have a problem.”

“Do you?”

“Someone is trying to kill my men.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Lieutenant Colonel, but you and your men are in a combat zone, are you not?”

Smith smiled ruefully. “We are. And were it just Terry Taliban taking pot shots at the gates, I wouldn’t mind. But the sneaky buggers are going after my bomb disposal unit and they’re being right unsporting about it.”

“I see.” Mycroft folded his hands together carefully. “And how do you suppose I can assist with this… issue?”

Smith set down his tea. “What’s the first rule? Don’t investigate your own men.”

The movement that quirked the corner of Mycroft’s mouth could very nearly be interpreted as a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

“Nutsack,” Nick stuck out his hand.

“ATO. Fucking fine day for incinerating all my evidence.” Nuttall shook his hand. “You do realize I actually need the bombs to do my job.”

“And I need my head still attached to my shoulders to do mine.”

“That’s not the head that’s important to ya, and you know it.”

“Cheers.” Nick started walking as Nuttall fell in beside him. “Thankfully, I still have that one attached and your mother serviced it properly just last week.”

“WISWO!”

Nick’s face scrunched at Rocket, refusing to break stride en route to the CO’s office. “Anyway. Some clever bastard has been detonating simultaneously, preferably while I’m next to the incendiary. Next time, I’ll just ask them kindly not to.”

Nuttall stopped and gave him a long look. “No one else has been reporting anything of the like.”

“That’s why I have you here. Because we’re special. I’m special. This is lovely attention from a pyrotechnic twat that wants us dead. So stick around a bit. Maybe tomorrow there’ll be a Medhurst smoothie for the first five customers.”

Nuttall scowled and pressed past him to enter the CO’s office. “Are you serious? Nick, because if you are, this is a doozy of a problem.”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wish I weren’t. It’s not helping that I’ve been saddled with that yoyo Llewellyn. And the lads liked Jasmine, but now we have Mag Aoidh. Who’s fucking fit, don’t get me wrong, but she’s been here two months and it’s like a black hole of fuckery, Steve. Where the bloody hell is the Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Meeting in Bastion, I think. He dropped in as I popped off.” Nuttall gave a shrug. “Now look, I’ll have a nosey and see what I can find. But I need you to bring me something, yeah?”

“Yes. Alright.”


	4. Chapter 4

“What did you mean by a daisy-chain?” Towerblock crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side.

Mag Aoidh made a looping gesture with one hand. “The one goes off and it sets off the next and the next. Dominos.”

“Ya, I know what a daisy-chain is. But why?”

“Yes, why? Have experience with them, do you?”

“Dominos? Yes, actually, Lansley, I do. A few of the twats I came across in Bagdad were fans of them.” She flattened her palms against the worktop, spreading her fingers out wide and bracing against her arms. “They’re really fecking efficient. Particularly in buildings.”

“But we’re not in the buildings here,” Towerblock objected. “So why chain and not remote?”

“You’d need eyes on for a remote and you’d have to be just right with it for it to work at all.” She traced the grain of the wood for a second. “If you did it right, everyone dies. But more than likely, it’s a giant waste of time and energy.”

“Who is?” Rocket flopped onto the rickety couch.

“You are, ya numpty.” Mac dropped beside him.

“Right so,” Towerblock shifted his weight. “Once you cut the first one…”

“Yeah,” Mag Aoidh nodded.

“Huh. That’s actually kinda clever.”

“Also beats the shit outta burying your triggers,” Bird added as she joined the conversation. “Signals out here are desperate anyway.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that we were happy out with simple IEDs until you showed up,” Simon huffed.

“Me?” Mag Aoidh’s fingers curled into fists against the worktop. “Jesus! If I wanted to watch bigoted pricks like you get blown up, I’d never need left Shankill.”

“Ah, Muireann,” Bird tried to catch her arm as she passed, but Mag Aoidh was having none of it, storming out of the tent and across the yard. “Nice going, Simon!”

Towerblock flicked Simon across the forehead. “Not clever pissing off the one person that’ll keep you from bleeding out if you get shot. What’s your problem anyway? Loo is a right yoyo, and I don’t see you taking chunks outta him.”

“Yeah, but even if he’s brown, Loo is English,” Simon said flatly.

“Jiw jiw! I’m fucking Welsh!” Rhys snapped, breaking his near hour-long silence. “I’m piss tired of this shite, you gomping limbo.”

Towerblock bit back the grin threatening to explode across his face, and he would have succeeded if not for the dumbfounded expression on Simon’s. Bird snickered first though. Then Mac laughed. Then Towerblock joined in. And Simon huffed and left the tent at the shocked and pleased look on Llewellyn’s face.

“Well that wasn’t English,” Rocket muttered.


	5. Chapter 5

“No.” John said firmly. “No, Sherlock. Absolutely not.”

“I think you’re being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? Sherlock,” he threw his hands up. “He wants us to sign the Official Secrets Act. Again, I might add. You always refuse Mycroft. Why this one? What’s so different about it?”

“I refuse Mycroft, because he’s an insufferable know-it-all who cannot keep from sticking his fat nose in my business. He is pathologically incapable of delegating responsibility or trusting those in his employ. And most of all, on nearly every occasion, he has been more than capable of handling every eventuality should he cease being endlessly lazy and actually leave his desk.”

John huffed and crossed his arms, muttering a barely audible, “Lazy git.” Though whether it was directed at Sherlock or Mycroft was open to interpretation.

“This one has the distinct advantage of distance.” Sherlock swung his legs over the side of the sofa in an exaggerated sitting motion. “No matter the level of involvement he wishes to maintain, I think he’ll find it impossible.”

John frowned, clearly opting to bite his tongue over pushing it further.

“And I’m boooooored,” Sherlock whined.

“God forbid. What about the case that Greg had for you? That’s here. And doesn’t involve your brother in the least.”

“It’s a two at best. This one is at least a seven.”

“So you’ll actually deign to put on trousers and leave the flat?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, John.”

“Beg to differ.”

“Don’t beg. Besides, there is one additional benefit.” A sly smile flashed across Sherlock’s face.

“Oh yeah? What could possibly be better than Mycroft being too far away to bother?”

“This one actually requires your expertise, John.”

“Mine?” His brows shot up for a moment before he thought better of it and narrowed his eyes. “Which expertise are we talking about?”

Sherlock grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

“So is this what ye do when you’re waiting for a call out? Sit around?” Mag Aoidh carefully rearranged a few of the items on the front of her kit, muttering a soft, “Why is everything here backwards?”

Bird crossed her legs at the ankles, letting her boots thunk down on the table. “Mac and Rocket are probably off lighting things on fire or drinking bleach or jumping off of high walls.”

“They’re going to keep me busy, aren’t they.”

“Only on base. Nick is either trying it on with the Padre or having a wank over the Padre. Gordo’s probably watching. The CO is likely to show up the moment I mention him, so better not. Simon is probably crying in a corner. I’ve no idea what Loo does in his free time. And I,” Bird interlaced her fingers behind her head and smiled. “I am enjoying the fact that I’ve cleaned and shined all my toys, so I can sit here and-“

The loud ringing interrupted her relaxation and she snapped the chair down to the ground, reaching for the phone as Nick appeared at the head of the table.

“And what lovely tea party has interrupted my afternoon of… Well, tea.”

“Odd thing to call your wank, Sir,” Bird shot back.

“Don’t see why, Bird. I get my kit out, use my formidable skills and… tool, and all going to plan, there’s a well controlled explosion at the end and everyone goes home happily satisfied.”

“Wha, everyone has to be satisfied?” Mac frowned. “Geih.”

“That is both appalling and unsurprising,” Nick dismissed him quickly. “What have we got, Bird?”

“Shout. Yellow-three-H. Reports of at least two in the dirt.”

“Right!” Nick clapped his hands together. “Thought it was getting boring again. Off we fuck.”


	7. Chapter 7

John cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Sherlock cocked a brow as his eyes traced a lazy path up John’s body. “It should feel fine. Fits like a glove.”

John shook his head. “Sherlock, I was discharged.”

“And you’ve been reinstated.”

“By Mycroft for-“

“For national security reasons. Queen and Country. And correct me if I’m wrong, but that is why you joined in the first place.”

“I’m no where near in good enough shape for this.”

“And I disagree.” Sherlock grinned. “Plus, I’ve been repeatedly informed that impersonation of a military official carries quite the incarceration sentence. As such, only an actual officer is allowed dress,” Sherlock gestured vaguely at John. “In uniform.”

John huffed. “I don’t know if you remember, but the last time we went on base, it didn’t end particularly well.”

“You and I clearly differ in our definition of ‘well.’” Sherlock stood and crossed the sitting room to inspect John’s new uniform. His old uniform, actually. “As I recall, Bainbridge survived _because_ you were there.”

“Ah.” John’s weight shifted, only once. Then he’d adopted his rather frequent posture of parade rest. It was sharper than usual. Broader. Squarer. Militant. And he flushed out to the tips of his ears. “I was… I meant…”

“Oh.” Sherlock picked an imaginary piece of lint from John’s sleeve before smoothing his palms across John’s shoulders. “I… As we are heading to an active base, you are my official escort.”

John tipped his face up, meeting Sherlock’s apologetic frown with a smirk. “Your escort?”

“Apparently, I am not to be wandering about unsupervised.”

John snorted.

“And I promise not to lock you in a lab.”

While the lop-sided grin remained firmly fixed on John’s face, his eyes narrowed harshly. “You promise, do you?” Sherlock nodded and John watched him carefully as the silence stretched. “Where exactly are we going, then?”

Sherlock straightened and tucked both hands at the small of his back, mirroring John’s parade rest in his own way. “It’s a forward operating base.”

“Forward op-“

“Place called Patrol Base Frost.”

“Patrol base? Sherlock?”

“I have the files and the details for you to review before we leave. Shouldn’t take terribly long for you to pack.”

“Sherlock.”

“Seeing as you’ll only need uniforms. I suppose your old ruck should work. And a laptop. Mycroft will secure your weapons and a sat phone for-“

“Sherlock!”

“-when we arrive. And don’t forget your sunglasses.”

“SHERLOCK!” At John’s bark, Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, watching John hesitantly. John hadn’t moved from parade rest, but his tongue shot out across his lower lip: a nervous tic to mask his desire to shake out his hand. “Sherlock, where, specifically, exactly, geographically are we going?”

Sherlock sucked in a short breath. “Patrol Base Frost. It’s… In the Helmand Province. Afghanistan.”

John smiled wide enough that his teeth flashed. “I’m sorry. What?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Boss on the move!” Towerblock called, trailing a few feet behind, letting out cord as Nick headed down the road.

“Eyes on!” Simon snapped. Bringing his AK to his shoulder and scanning the terrain. “This is when it’s the most dangerous.” Llewellyn followed suit. Mac and Rocket ignored him.

Mag Aoidh raised a brow from her post against the mastiff. “He always like this?”

Bird sighed. “Sadly, yeah.”

“It’s no joke!” Simon barked at her.

“I’m aware.” She patted her sidearm. “Not my first rodeo, Lansley.”

Bird grinned. “No surprise we put our ATO in his capable hands.”

“And we lovingly support him in ours,” Mac chimed in. “Cupped gently. Like mah balls.”

“Nothing you do is loving or gentle to yer balls.” Towerblock set the det wires down as Nick reached the nearest IED.

“What about Rocket’s mum?”

“Hey!” Rocket protested.

Towerblock toggled the coms, “Any connectors, boss?”

He was met by a long sigh. “Connectors? Thank god you’re here, Towerblock. What would I possibly do without you here to natter away in my ear? Oh wait… My job. Which in no way requires focus.” He continued to slowly clear the dirt around the bomb. “Looks like the chain heads off away.”

The ping of bullets on metal only just preceded the loud snap of automatic fire. “CONTACT RIGHT!” Simon shouted, dropping to a knee and turning towards the shooting.

“Boss! Cover!”

“Shit!” Bird swore, dropping next to the wheel well of the CV. “Charlie-Charlie-One! Bluestone 42, contact.”

Nick was up and running, the flat of the road leaving zero cover.

“Got one!” Mac crowed.

“Fuck!”

“Boss!”

“Nick!”

“Goddammit! Stay down!” Mag Aoidh took off at a sprint, leaving the shelter of the mastiff for the open space. The moment she’d started, the lads opened fire. Suppression was the only cover they’d have. She slid the last two feet to get low to the ground and provide the smallest amount of cover for the ATO. “Up!” she barked, grabbing the nearest arm and hauling them both back to their feet.

Nick took a few stumbling steps before he found his feet again and managed to take his own weight. “Shit that bloody stings.”

“Another one down!” Rocket called.

“Here!” Mag Aoidh propelled Nick toward the protection of the engine block. She stepped over his outstretched legs and dropped to one knee, unerringly finding the bleeding with a firm hand.

“Bugger! Gee, you sadist!”

“Shut up, you pompous twat,” she hissed back. It was the work of a few minutes before she was happy it was nothing more than a graze and it was dressed well enough to stop bleeding. “You’re also a drama queen.”

“Clear!” Simon called.

“Hey, getting shot bloody well deserves some sympathy. It hurts.”

Mag Aoidh raised a brow. “I know. But you’re only down about an inch of skin and maybe a tiny bit of pudge off your love-handle there. I think you’ll live.”

“Oi!” He tried to look offended. “Now there’s less of me to love. Towerblock, I’m not really feeling this whole careful disarmament to preserve the gothic landscape nonsense today. What do you say we just blow it all the fuck up and go home?”

Towerblock grinned. “Can do, Boss.”

“If you light that cigarette, I will actually slap the stupid out of you,” Mag Aoidh threatened.

“Now I know you’re a sadist,” Nick winked.

“Twat.” She smacked the top of his helmet as she stood and dusted her fatigues.

“Everyone take cover!” Towerblock called. “Detonation in five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

There were four IEDs in a loop this time. But the explosion was impressive.


	9. Chapter 9

“Ok,” John sighed and tossed the file on the small table between them, the dull roar of the jets in conjunction with the small print lulling him into a bit of a fog. “Let me get this straight. You and I are going to a small and rural patrol base in the middle of fuck all nowhere Helmand. Because,” and John raised a finger to emphasize his point. “One of Mycroft’s buddies thinks that someone is trying to kill soldiers, who are actually in an active combat zone, and has vague suspicions that it’s an inside job?”

“That is, more or less, accurate,” Sherlock murmured.

“And the most likely scenario is that it’s one of the actual team?” John raised a brow.

“Yes.”

John’s face scrunched. “You do realize that’s not actually likely at all, yeah?”

Sherlock managed to look slightly offended. “And why not?”

“It’s just,” he spread his hands out in an ineffective gesture. “Squads don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Sherlock, you literally have to trust the people around you with your life. All the time. It’s… Intense and… It just… It doesn’t make sense.”

“Explain it to me.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I should just trust you then, shall I?”

“Course.” John smiled. The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Fine, alright. Take me through what we have. I know you’re dying to.”

Sherlock straightened and flipped open one of the files. “Bluestone 42: bomb disposal unit, currently on deploy at Base Frost in the Helmand. Nearly completing their second deployment together. Generally considered the best and yet the least sane squad outside of Bastion.”

“Sound like my kind of people,” John murmured wryly.

Sherlock glanced across the table pointedly and flipped one of the photos. “Captain Nick Medhurst, Sandhurst, Ammunition Technical Officer. Genuinely respected bomb tech, disrespectful outside of field work.”

“Playboy?”

“Mmn,” Sherlock flipped to the next photo. “Corporal Gordon House. Known as Towerblock. Second in command. From Leeds. Tends to be good with mechanics. Stole cars in his youth.”

“Ah the Leeds lads,” John chuckled. “Alright, go on.”

“Corporal Lynda Bird. Electronic Counter Measures. Portsmouth, shockingly not in the Navy.” Another photo. “Lance Corporal Simon Lansley. Essex. General dog’s body, infantry protection.” Another. “Private Kevin McDowell. Glaswegian in every sense of the word. And Private Euan Armstrong. Edinburgh. Both infantry protection.”

“Alright. I’m getting the sense.”

“There are two recent additions,” he turned over the next sheet. “Captain Muireann Mag Aoidh. Medic. From Shankill, trained at Queen’s. Third tour. Requested remote placement after Basra and Bastion.”

“Basra?” John’s brows went up. “That was no picnic.”

“And Private Rhys Llewellyn. Cardiff. Very young. Very green.”

“Jesus, what is he? Twelve?”

“I’ve been assured he’s twenty-one.” Sherlock placed another three pictures on the table. “Reverend Major Mary Greenstock. From Lincolnshire. Relationship failure and pointless publishing career drove her into the military. Faruq; I’ve been assured he has no surname. Officially, he is the unit translator. Unofficially, he acts as a local fixer. And finally, Lieutenant Colonel Philip Smith. I have found no record of his assignment to Frost and yet he spends an increasing amount of time there.”

“Let me guess,” John crossed his arms. “He’s the one that got your brother involved.”

“Very good. There are support staff, other units that use the base, but they are otherwise transitory.”

There was a soft chiming sound. “Gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent into Stuttgart. Please prepare for landing.”

John leveled a stare at Sherlock. “You realize I didn’t need to be in uniform until we met the lift out of the base later.”

“It will look more…”

“If you say authentic, Sherlock, I will personally throw you out of this plane.”

“I was going to say ‘comfortable,’ Major.”

John shook his head. “The promotion is unwarranted and completely ridic-“

“It is necessary, John.” Sherlock neatly shuffled the documents into a crisp pile and filed them away. “It will explain the time between now and when you were last-“

“Sherlock, something like this needs to be earned! From experience. And living in a war zone.”

Sherlock grinned as he reached for the photos. “What do you call living with me?”

John rolled his eyes. “You don’t need me for this; I bet you already know who it is.”

“Mmn,” Sherlock’s eyes flashed and he tapped the photo on the table with his finger. “Absolutely.”


	10. Chapter 10

The Lieutenant Colonel was angry enough that he met the squad as they stumbled out of the mastiff. As though his presence was enough expression of his ire, his tone was kept strangely conversational. “I must be oddly mistaken in the purpose of a bomb disposal unit.” He planted in hands on his hips and glared. “I was under the impression your job was to dispose of the bombs. Not blow them bloody well sky high!”

Nick stiffened and drew into a close approximation of parade rest. “Sir.”

His arms moved to cross over his chest. “Captain Medhurst, do you care to explain why you are bleeding?”

“Apparently when small bits of metal are propelled at speed-“

“There was contact, Sir,” Bird interrupted.

Towerblock took over, “We lost the cordon. It wasn’t safe to disarm the IED.”

“Lance Corporal,” Smith said sternly. “Though I’ve never expressly explained this, NOT letting the ATO get shot is whatever rule comes before the first rule!”

“Sir,” Simon twitched in his stance.

“Sir. Sorry, sir,” Mag Aoidh tugged her gear free of the mastiff. “But speaking of,” she turned towards Nick. “Med tent, now.”

“I thought I’d go pray the wound away,” Nick objected, taking a step in the direction of the main camp.

“Do it in the med tent,” Mag Aoidh insisted, stepping directly in his path.

“Gee, I know you like your little tent. It’s quaint. But I prefer the open air of the chapel with God and Jesus-“

“And Mary,” Bird rolled her eyes.

“If you decide to be sound rather than a complete bell end, I won’t put you on neuro obs and bed rest.” Mag Aoidh crossed her arms. “Or, I can send you off to Bastion… If your trauma is just so much more severe than I can manage, and we all have to ask for God’s intervention.”

“Captain Medhurst, the med tent. Now please. And Corporal House, I would like a word. In my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Towerblock saluted as the Lieutenant Colonel gave a dismissive nod to the remainder of the unit.


	11. Chapter 11

“On the bed, shirt off, on your back.”

“Kinky. I never knew that about you, Gee.” Nick smirked as he stripped his shirt and vest, flopping on the med table.

“You know,” Mag Aoidh snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves. “You really aren’t my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type,” he pillowed the back of his head in his hands and winked. Then he flinched as antiseptic soaked gauze pressed into the wound on his side. “Fuck, Gee! A little warning!”

Mag Aoidh barely suppressed a smile. “You want kid gloves and a gentle touch, go see the Padre. You want to not die of sepsis then shut up and let me do my job.”

“I think you’re being unfairly hard on me.”

She finished cleaning the wound and prepped a local. “If I were being hard on you, you’d know it. Now hold still, this might sting a little.”

“GODDAMNIT, GEE!” Nick shouted, grabbing her wrist. “If this is what passes for medical attention in the boggy, potato swamps you micked out of-“

“Do you want me to find a leather strap for ye to bite down on?” In fairness, she was being liberal with the local, and quite meticulous in the multiple injection sites. “Whatever happened to the British stiff upper lip? Or are you poncy twats all so inbred your chins have gone weak?” She set the syringe down and glared at him.

“You are stabbing me with a needle, you stupid Paddy!”

“Aye, because ye got yer eejit self shot! Now do you want to keep making fun of where I’m from or do ye want me to close that hole in yer side that’s gaping worse than yer maw, you pretentious prick?”

They glared at each other.

“Captain.” Mag Aoidh added the rank rather spitefully.

Nick nearly snarled, but his face fell into something of acceptance. “You are an unholy terror, Captain,” he hissed at her.

“And I figure that local has kicked in, you dumb proddy bastard.”

With a resigned sigh, he flopped back onto the table. “Then take your pound of flesh.”

She grinned wolfishly and picked up the needle driver. “Thou shall have more justice than thou desirest.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Sir,” Towerblock was trying to be tactful. He was trying so very very hard to be tactful. “With all due respect, why do we always get landed with these babysitting jobs? We’ve better things to do with our time than minding a pair of PONTIs!”

“I assure you, Corporal House, that neither of these men are PONTIs.” Smith’s tone was far less dismissive than expected.

“But, Sir. Last time with the Minister-“

“If anyone in Bluestone allows another car bomb onto my base-“

“It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Smith watched Towerblock intently. “As I was saying, this is an MOD man and a Major. And when I say MOD, I mean that in the vaguest of terms that should imply that he can fend for himself. And the Major-“

“Probably grown barnacles on his arse from sitting at a desk since-“

“Ah,” Smith smiled and stepped past Towerblock. “Major Watson, Mr. Holmes,” he held out a hand to each in turn. Towerblock steeled himself against the backlash he expected as he turned to salute the Major. “Corporal House and I were just discussing your accommodation here at Frost.”

The Major saluted formally before shaking the Lieutenant Colonel’s hand. “Lieutenant Colonel, it’s a pleasure.”

“Sir,” Towerblock felt it better not to meet the Major’s eyes and prayed the barnacles comment hadn’t been overheard.

He held his salute until the Major gave a hushed, “At ease, Corporal.”

Then Towerblock glanced down at the Major. And he did a double take. “Well fuck me.”

John grinned. “Gordo, you little shit.” He clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Find any interesting cars lately?”

“No, Sir,” Towerblock flashed a lop-sided grin. “’Course not.”

“How’s your uncle?”

“Ah, you know Bill. Workin’ hard. Hardly workin’. Whinging about his knees. Pranking the kids.”

John gave a friendly nod. “Barnacles and all.”

Towerblock flushed. “They never said it was you. And no one told me you were a Major now.”

“Forget it kiddo. If you’re the one showing us around, this is going to be far more fun than I expected.” John shifted to include Sherlock in the conversation, opening the circle to all four of them. “Corporal House, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, Gordon House.”

“The family resemblance is noted,” Sherlock said smoothly, extending a hand. “Except for the-“

“Hair,” Towerblock interrupted, accepting the offered greeting. “I know. It’s all Auntie Lor talks about. Mr. Holmes, nice to meet you.”

“Mmn,” Sherlock hummed.

“Right, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me. Due to an unforeseen difference in jargon, we’ve received an unfortunate number of reporters into Bastion.” Smith paused and sighed. “You know how it is.” He gave a nod. “Gentlemen. Carry on.” And he was gone.

“So,” John started conversationally. “You got stuck with us then?”

“I rather thought we’d be greeted by your captain,” Sherlock mused.

“Ah, right. Yeah.” Towerblock rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re just back from a shout. ATO got grazed during contact. I think he’s still in the med tent. We can start at the DFAC and go from there.”

“After you, Corporal,” John gestured towards the yard.

Sherlock stopped just behind John’s shoulder. “Bill Murray’s nephew then? You kept that quiet.”

John smirked. “You knew anyway.”


	13. Chapter 13

Nick sighed as he reached the door to his bunk. “Padre.”

“Nick,” Mary started. “I heard there’s a pair of… Wait. Are you bleeding?”

“Not currently, no. I was. Which was a terrible byproduct of being dashing and brave and ultimately shot. Thankfully, Gee managed some unholy acts of terror against my person, as a result of which, I am no longer bleeding.” He pushed past her in search of a fresh uniform, casually shucking his already open shirt and vest. He rooted around in his locker for anything clean.

“I’m sorry.” Mary shook her head in a confused manner. “I thought you just said you’d been shot?”

He let out an irritated huff to cover a bitten off groan as he straightened. “I’m pretty sure, in spite of the reaming I received from a small, irate medic insisting it’s a graze and not a proper war wound, that yes: I have been shot. The cleaning and suturing of which was not quite the agony I’d intended for my afternoon. I am also, I can only assume, late for a proper bollocking from the Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Oh.”

Nick sucked in a breath as small fingers skimmed the adhesives bordering the dressing. “… Mary.”

“You were shot.”

He closed his eyes. “Yes. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Nick…”

“You have the worst timing…” He carefully removed her hand and tugged on a shirt. “This is just one thing, in a long line of bloody awful things, that I would rather not remember. Oh look,” he pointed at the bandage. “A permanent reminder of the fact that I ought to write Gee up for a medal. But only if I’m not publically flogged within an inch of my life for being a stupid twat first.”

Mary shook herself. “The Lieutenant Colonel wouldn’t…”

Nick grinned savagely. “He would. I deserve it.”

“… Not in front of the visiting Major and that MOD…”

“I’m sorry.” Nick stooped, furrowing his brow. “Who?”

“The… There are two MVPs on base. Some Major escorting an MOD something or other. I did try to tell you.”

“And I couldn’t hear you over the sound of inappropriate touching. Goddammit!” He stalked out of his bunk while still buttoning his shirt.


	14. Chapter 14

“I have a question.”

“Aye?”

“Captain Mag Aoidh,” Rocket’s face scrunched. “Does she like girls?”

Mac frowned at him. “I dunno. Why?”

“Well. If she were gay, that would mean that she likes girls.”

“Aye.”

“And you and Nick call her Gee.”

“Aye.”

“So… You think she likes girls.”

“No, Rocket, ya numpty. That’s her name.”

“Her name is gay?”

“Gee. Her name is Gee.”

“Right. Gay.”

Mac face-palmed. “No. Not geih. Gee.”

“Gay.”

“Gee! As in Mag Aoidh.”

“What about me?” Mag Aoidh crossed into DFAC. “And unless the next words out of yer mouths is ‘here’s your cuppa’ then I don’t even want to know.” She brushed past them, heading for the coffee.

“Maybe she just likes coffee,” Rocket offered. Mac shook his head.

“Oi!” Towerblock barked. “Lads! We have guests.” Mac and Rocket were on their feet in a flash. “Privates, this is Major Watson and Mr. Holmes. They’ll be observing for the next short while.”

“Aye!” They both saluted.

“Privates,” John gave a brisk nod.

“Very special privates,” Mac corrected.

Towerblock groaned. “This is Mac and Rocket. Infantry. And…”

“Infantile?” Sherlock offered with a raised brow.

John snorted.

“Major?” Mac straightened. “Have yeh ever been to Fallujah?”

Sherlock stooped, keeping his voice low and hushed in John’s ear. “Don’t engage them, John. Once they get started they’ll never stop.”

John smothered the temptation to smile.

“Ooh,” Bird joined Mag Aoidh, pouring herself a coffee. “Who’s tall dark and handsome over there?”

“MOD,” Mag Aoidh murmured. “If you believe that.”

“You don’t?” Bird raised a brow.

“Since when do they send a major to babysit the MOD?”

“Awfully short to be a major, innhe?”

“It’s a survival trait.” Mag Aoidh gave Bird a wry look and sipped her coffee. “We make smaller targets.”

“Mag Aoidh, Bird,” Towerblock called. “Come meet our guests.”

“Guests?” Nick stalked into the DFAC. “Is that the delicate terminology we’re now using for interlopers and PONTIs, no offense, Major, that will make doing our job bloody hard?”

John pursed his lips. Neither horribly offended nor terribly amused. “I was under the impression your job was already bloody hard, Captain.”

Nick’s grin was rude. “You’ve no idea.”

“That’s debatable,” Sherlock muttered.

“I’m sorry, Holmes was it?” Nick rounded on him and paused. He squinted at Sherlock as Sherlock’s lip curled up. Nick’s expression morphed into something of surprise. “William… Wills?” He barked out a laugh and ruffled Sherlock’s hair. John briefly wondered if he was about to lose that hand. “Look at you! I’d no idea you’d thrown in with the hoi polloi. What rabble are you working with? Six? You can’t be Five and be out here.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Medhurst.”

“I heard you’d dropped off the face of the Earth,” Nick rambled on. “Or at least Sebastian surely wished you had.”

John’s shoulders went rigid. “Wilkes is spineless tosser.”

Nick barked out a laugh. “Met him then? Fairly diplomatic of you. He’s been a disgrace of a human being since he was in short pants. And age didn’t deign to gift him with wisdom or charm.”

The smile was stiff where it started to curl the corners of John’s mouth. “Kept in touch did you?”

Nick buried a grumble in the process of lighting a cigarette. “Let’s just say that I’d rather get a buggering from a sandstorm than attend another event with that complete bell end. Come to think of it, why weren’t you there, Wills?”

“Social niceties aren’t really my area,” Sherlock said flatly.

Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “And here I was worried you’d gone and changed.”

“Medhurst, stop being a dumb twat and put that the fuck out!” Mag Aoidh shouted from across the DFAC.

“Ah, gents, have you had the pleasure of meeting our medic?”


	15. Chapter 15

“Alright, Holmes,” Nick leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table. “You might have my grunts fooled, but I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re a clever bloke and I’ve always respected that about you. But you and I both damn well know you’re not here to ‘facilitate an update in intelligence software.’”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “And respecting you enough not to insult your intelligence, do you honestly think playing upon a secondary school acquaintance is sufficient for me to neglect your level of clearance?”

“You always were a damn fine fencer. I think I’ve missed sparring against you.”

“Flattery? Are you seriously using the same playbook as when you were a teen?”

Nick grinned. “It works far more frequently than you’d imagine.”

“Don’t assume to know what I can and cannot imagine. Besides, that has been a rather unsuccessful tactic of late, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t be mean.”

“You brought up Wilkes.”

“And if it wouldn’t have me court-martialed, I’d have put him down the last time I saw him.”

“You would have, wouldn’t you?”

“He is a complete knob and I regret that there is even some semblance of commonality between us. Besides.” Nick glanced at someone over Sherlock’s shoulder. “I spend my time with better people now. Nutsack,” Nick stood and offered his hand.

“Nutsack?” Sherlock’s face twisted in disapproval. “Ah, Nuttall, of course. Weapons intelligence, isn’t it?”

“It is. Nick,” Nuttall gave a nod and eyed Sherlock. “And you are?”

“He’s above your pay grade,” Nick said with a chuckle. “Now. Tell me if you’ve got anything new for me.”

“What did I tell you last time? I said, you’ve got to bring me something! And you go and det four of them? C’mon, mate, you gotta do better than that!”

Nick sighed heavily. “Fine. Next time.”

“Oi!” Nuttall jabbed a finger at him. “Try not to get shot either.”

“Anything for you, Nutsack.”

Sherlock tracked Nuttall as he paced out of the office. “So you have Weapons Intelligence working on this too.”

“Of course I do,” Nick dragged a hand across his face.

Sherlock’s mouth twitched. “You have the man that slept with your fiancée working on this.”

“Stop that!” Nick swatted at the side of Sherlock’s head. “I punched him in the face and we got over it.”

“Of course,” Sherlock hummed.


	16. Chapter 16

“You deep fried the turkey?!” John laughed hard enough he had to slap the table.

“Aye,” Mac said gravely. “If you can deep fry a mars bar…”

“You can deep fry anything,” Rocket finished. John continued to chuckle. “Wait… Can you deep fry a grenade?”

“No!” It didn’t matter who shouted first, but at least three people at the table were involved.

“Aye. Didn’t think so,” Rocket shook his head sadly.

“Oh, oh!” Bird smacked Towerblock’s arm. “Tell him about the RPG!”

“The RPG?” John raised a brow.

“Don’t!” Towerblock complained.

“It was the first shout he’d been on with us,” Bird started enthusiastically.

“Second,” Towerblock interjected. “It was the second one. And it was after I set Rocket on fire.”

“On fire… No, wait,” John held up a finger. “We can come back to that. RPG?”

“There was contact. And this bloody numpty couldn’t find cover if it bit him in the arse!” Bird ruffled Towerblock’s short hair. “And then this RPG comes out of nowhere and hits him square in the chest!”

“That sodding well hurt, you know.”

“You got hit. In the chest. With an RPG?!” John was actually cross.

“It didn’t go off!”

“No!” Bird kept laughing. “It just sort of… Stuck there! And you woke up and just…” She trailed off in giggles.

“Shears!” Towerblock guffawed.

“The shears!” Bird crowed.

“You missed the medic afterwards.” He mimed poking Bird in the sternum. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Yeah, thought so. Stupid plonker.”

John cracked a smile. “I don’t suppose you often get to ask after someone’s shot in the chest with an RPG.”

“I don’t recommend it.”

John snickered. “The stories I could tell you about Bill.”

“The stories he could probably tell about you,” Towerblock smirked.

“Oi, don’t you dare!” John scolded without heat, pointing a finger at Rocket. “You set that poor lad on fire.”

“It was Christmas?” Towerblock offered.

“Aye!” Rocket grinned. “Christmas!”

“You set him on fire, _On Christmas_?” John asked incredulously.

“No,” Towerblock grinned. “I set him on fire on Christmas Eve. I was hit with the RPG on Christmas.”

John burst out laughing.

“Oh! Oh!” Bird hit Towerblock’s arm again.

“Oi! Bird, knock it off.”

“Tell him about the crab racing!”

“No. No way!”

“Or the new suit!”

“The wah?”

“What about the time we camped out and had to bayonet those insurgents in the middle of the night?” Simon grinned.

The table went quiet as John’s face settled in an expression of disgruntled scrutiny. Simon squirmed uncomfortably. Towerblock cleared his throat, “Er, another brew, Sir?”

John shifted, straightening his spine and pulling his shoulders back. “No. Thank you, Corporal.”

“What the hell, Simon?” Bird hissed at him.

“Major,” Sherlock purred in John’s ear. If he was surprised, John didn’t show it, merely raising an eyebrow as he continued to watch Lansley. “Having fun with your new pals?”

John snorted, dropping his voice so only Sherlock would hear. “You having fun with your old ones?”

“Dear God, this is boring!” Nick declared, dropping into one of the spare chairs. “Is it wrong to want a good, old-fashioned car bomb to show up somewhere?”

“Talk to Mag Aoidh about that,” Simon muttered. Bird punched him soundly in the thigh. “Ow!”

“Uh, Captain Medhurst, Sir?” Rhys hovered at the edge of the DFAC.

“Yes, Loo, what is it?”

“There’s a shout on. Just came in a moment ago.”

“Oh, thank God!” Nick pushed himself to standing.

“What’s up?” Mag Aoidh appeared with an empty mug in her hand.

“Shout,” Towerblock offered.

“Nuh uh,” she shook her head. “We’ve been grounded for two days on account of our ATO getting shot. Didn’t you hear?”

“Gee, you’re killing me!” Nick grumbled through clenched teeth.

“Why? You weren’t going to tell them?” she asked innocently.

“No, Gee. I wasn’t. I was going to wait until we were knee deep in the suck before thinking about it. But thank goodness you’re here to set everything straight.”

“You’re an ungrateful sod, you know that?” she shook her head and disappeared again.

“Yes! I know!” Nick settled back into his chair. “Towerblock, why don’t you take our new friends and show them their bunk.”

“Bunk?”

“Yes, bunk. Sorry, Holmes. Real estate on a FOB is in short supply. You and the Major will have to share.”

Sherlock frowned.

“It’s a very nice rack, if it makes you feel any better,” Nick offered with a grin.

“Problem?” John asked quietly.

“No,” Sherlock shook himself. “Of course not.”

“Good,” John grinned and excused himself from the table, turning sharply to follow Gordon. “So, Gordo... Towerblock?”

Towerblock groaned in reply.


	17. Chapter 17

“It’s not Gordon,” John murmured as he tossed his ruck into the corner of the small room.

“Open air?”

“I’m sure you know that, but I’m going to say it again, because it strikes me that you’re not listening.” John unrolled his mattress. “It’s not Gordon.”

“This can’t possibly be safe.”

“Sherlock?” John crossed his arms and glared.

“Not exactly bulletproof, all these windows… And no glass…”

“Sherlock, did you hear me?”

“Hardly safe from accidental disclosure of classified information.” Sherlock continued to pace the narrow confines of the room.

“Sherlock!” John snapped.

He flapped a hand absently in John’s direction. “Of course I heard you. It’s not Corporal House. Clearly.”

“Clearly?” John raised his brows, completely unamused.

“It isn’t Captain Medhurst either, before you continue to point out the obvious.”

“Obvious,” John said flatly and narrowed his eyes at his bunkmate. “You know what, you’re right. Sod it all, I’m going to sleep.”

“Sleep?”

“Yes, Sherlock, sleep.” And with that, John turned his back and stripped off his long sleeves, tossing the shirt over the bar at the foot of his bunk before stooping to unlace his boots.

“What are you doing?”

John straightened and flopped onto his bed. “What does it look like, genius?” He toed off his boots, letting them drop to the packed-dirt floor. Then he reached for his belt.

“John…”

“Sherlock, I don’t care. I’m bushed. I need some sleep.” The belt came off.

“But you’re…”

“Going to sleep,” he cut off Sherlock’s objection and shimmied out of his fatigues, slinging them over top his shirt.

“Here?”

John stretched, cracked his neck from side to side, and scratched the back of his head. “Where else am I supposed to sleep?”

Sherlock just blinked at him.

“Be a dote and kill the light. You can think in the dark. Or sleep.” John dropped flat on his back, draping his right arm over his eyes. “Won’t have the only light on in the FOB. Makes us a target.”

“It… It does what?”

“Sherlock,” John growled without moving his arm. “We’ll be going on their next shout. I need sleep. Either shut up, or get out.”

“John…”

“Sleep!”


	18. Chapter 18

“FUCK!”

John raised his eyes and very slowly lowered his coffee to the DFAC tabletop, watching Medhurst stomp across the open yard to tent. He was sure he wanted to hear what was about to happen, and he was even more sure that no one else wanted him to hear it. Casual eavesdropping it was.

“Boss?” Bird perked up, closing her laptop with a click as Nick reached the tent.

“Get them in here, Bird,” Nick snapped.

“Who?”

“All of them, Bird. Now!”

“Yeah, alright.” It was only moments before the bulk of Bluestone 42 was in the tent.

“Where is Mag Aoidh?” Nick demanded.

“Med tent?” Towerblock offered.

“Servicing yer ma,” Mac grinned.

“Wouldn’t it be his da?” Rocket asked.

“Mag Aoidh get the bloody hell in here!” Nick shouted into the yard. When Mag Aoidh didn’t instantly appear, he braced his hands on the table and bellowed at the roof. “GEE!”

“Fucking hell, what?” Mag Aoidh stopped shy of the table and crossed her arms. “I was with a patient.”

“This is what!” Nick tossed a file onto the table, papers and photos spilling out in a trail.

Towerblock picked up one of the photos as Bird ran a finger over the lines of one of the documents. “Shit,” Bird mumbled. “That was Glad’s squad out of Pine.”

“Yah,” Towerblock added darkly. “And that was Glad’s hand.” He dropped the photo on the table with a pinched look on his face.

“Exactly.” Nick leaned over the table. “And that was our shout.”

“Ours?” Loo blanched. “You mean, the call I took…”

“Never would have happened to you, Sir,” Simon gave a small nod.

“No, Simon. No it wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t let it.”

“Of course not.” Nick’s smile was grim and sharp. “But thanks to our grounding, Glad’s now left-handed, Pine is short an ATO and two privates, and I have more than enough bitter to keep New Orleans swimming in Old Fashioneds. So as much fun as our little slumber party, night off was, it’s over.” He glared at Gee. “Next call is ours.”

Mag Aoidh’s expression was stormy. “You were shot. Grounding is SOP.”

“Fuck SOP,” Nick said flatly. “Unless you have a few spare hands sitting around to reattach to whomever is so lucky as to pull our next cover. I do recall Frankenstein made a wonderfully dexterous ATO.”

“Actually, Frankenstein was the scientist.”

“Shut the hell up, Simon!” Bird snapped.

Mag Aoidh looked as though she’d been slapped. “Right. Fine. Of course. Next one’s ours.”

“Good.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Something fascinating about the Royal Engineers here?”

John tilted his head to the side to acknowledge Sherlock’s approach, but didn’t move from his seat in the DFAC. “I thought you were still sleeping.”

“I don’t sleep, John. You know that.”

John smirked. “You don’t snore either.”

“I don’t snore!”

“And you hate repetition.”

“I think you’ve been in the sun too long.”

This time, John grinned. “I love the heat. You’re the one with the absurdly fair skin.”

“Fair skin?”

“Barely a Fitzpatrick two.”

“Your new promotion has clearly gone to your head, John.”

“That’s Major to you.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Is it boredom that has you observing this tedium? One engineer complaining about his bunkmate, the other pretending the repair of that drone is remotely challenging?”

“First of all,” John eased the chair back onto two legs and finally twisted to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “That one bunks with Lansley. And I’ve only known the kid for a few hours, but I’d be so far beyond just complaining. Second, that one is flat broke from gambling with Medhurst.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully and gave the two a longer look.

“Neither of which is why I’m sitting here though.”

Sherlock raised a brow and dragged his eyes away from the engineers. “Oh?”

“I’m here, because the poor team that took the shout yesterday is worse for it. Lost two infantry and the ATO’s literal right hand.”

Sherlock frowned. “That is… Inconvenient.”

“It is, isn’t it. So Medhurst has just bullied his medic into lifting their ban. You and I will be going on a ride-along rather soon.”

Sherlock grinned. “Spectacular.”

John was unimpressed. “I’m holding you to your promise. No wandering about unsupervised.”

“Technically, I promised not to lock you in a lab.” John narrowed his eyes. After a moment, Sherlock relented. “Oh, alright. I will adhere to the spirit of the conversation.”

“Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise not to wander about unsupervised.”

“Good.” John grinned.


	20. Chapter 20

“Oh, Captain Mag Aoidh. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Gee glanced up, barely lifting her head above the line of her shoulders. “I can go.”

“No. No, no, no. Don’t be silly.” Mary waved a hand. “The chapel is here for everyone. Anything I can do for you?”

“Is there anything to be said for saying another mass?” Gee muttered.

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.”

Mary gave Gee a long look before settling on the bench, pew, crate next to her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she rubbed the back of her neck and straightened. “Fine. Grand.”

There were two aborted attempts before Mary found the words for her next sentence. “It just strikes me that you don’t really come to the services, and I can’t recall the last time I saw you in the chapel.”

“I do mass, Padre. You know that.”

“But, see, you don’t.” Mary tilted her head. “Do you?”

Gee winced. “Not here, no.”

“Why not?”

Gee let out a long sigh in the direction of the partial ceiling. “You know what I do,” she said finally.

“You’re a medic.”

“Yes…”

“You… Save lives,” Mary added curiously.

Gee looked away. “Yeah, and?”

“You… hate smoking?” It didn’t even get a laugh. “You’re a captain in the Queen’s Army.”

“Yer getting there,” she stared at her hands glumly.

“I have no idea where this is going. I don’t know much about what you do when you’re not here at Frost.”

“No, because I like to keep separate the life where I go to mass with my nan and knit from the life where I kill people.”

Mary scoffed. “You don’t…”

Gee gave her a flat stare. “I carry a sidearm for a reason.”

“Yes, but…”

“But the number of people I save somehow balances out with the number I kill? Tell me, Padre, is it one to one? Is there some other ratio of equity? Does dragging Nick out of live fire make it ok that I killed two other people last night?”

“You didn’t… You didn’t kill anyone last night.”

Gee snorted. “There are two people dead and one without a hand, because of decisions I made. That’s on my head.”

“Decisions you made?”

She just sighed and hung her head.

“Muireann, that is not your fault.”

“Oi, Gee!” Towerblock called from the door.

Her head popped up and she frowned in his general direction, “What?”

“Gear up. We’ve a shout on. And we’re bringing the PONTIs along.”

“Well this’ll be great craic then.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Good day, my friends!”

“Faruq,” Bird nodded. “Oh God, what are you eating?”

“Pea nut-butter sandwich!” Faruq grinned.

“Ya, why is it green?” Towerblock grimaced.

“Are your peas not green?”

“Mah piss is yellow!” Mac shouted from the far end of the mastiff.

“Ah, gross,” Towerblock complained.

“Peanut butter, Faruq. Not pea nut-butter.” Bird shook her head.

“Is delicious. I will get you one. Five pounds.”

“I… No.”

“You sure? I have a surprising surplus.”

“Yeah, no.” Bird frowned. “Definitely no.”

“What on God’s green, and dear Lord that is green, Earth are you eating?” Nick crossed his arms.

Faruq shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. “Is delicious.”

“You don’t want to know.” Towerblock held out the kit.

“I don’t know. Perhaps if I had the time and the palate, I’d be willing to taste things… No. Not at all. Never.” Nick took the bag from Towerblock and scanned the small crowd that had gathered by the cordon.

“Quite the audience,” Bird murmured.

“Quite.” Nick sighed. “Towerblock, Mac, Rocket, Simon, you’re up front with me. Bird, I want you, Loo, and Gee down this end. Keep an eye on the lookie-loos. And Holmes, stay the fuck away from the IEDs.”

Sherlock scowled. He’d been told as much by John and really, he didn’t need to be treated like a child. “Whatever you want, Captain. I rather doubt the IEDs have much to contribute to the software upgrades.”

“Boss on the move!” Towerblock called.

Where he could normally expect a wry twist of John’s lips or a quiet chuckle or an eye-roll or a shake of the head or some sign of humor at his snarky reply, John was militant in his posture and uncompromising in his division of attention. And his eyes didn’t so much as flicker Sherlock’s direction as he followed Medhurst around the far side of the vehicles. As much as he enjoyed the figure John cut in the fatigues, the attitude left something to be desired. All stern and soldierly. Sherlock rolled his eyes on John’s behalf and turned his attention on the cordon.

“Bird?” Mag Aoidh murmured, her voice pitched low so as not to carry. “There’s something… off…”

“Off?” Bird spared a glance at Gee before following her line of vision and squinting at the smattering of people.

“Feels funny.”

Bird scanned the group again and gave a small nod. “Does, doesn’t it.” Very slowly, she stooped, dropping to one knee at the wheel well. “Loo, keep an eye on two o’clock there. Faruq, any chatter?”

“There is none, my friend.” It was a casual enough reply, but he heeded the warning in the question itself and carefully moved to position himself near the rear of the mastiff.

“Car,” Gee’s hand dropped to her sidearm.

“Car!” Loo called, his rifle trained on the new vehicle.

Sherlock inched around the second mastiff, eyeing the rusting car. It did stand out. Though it’d stopped just at the edge of the cordon; hadn’t required a warning.

“Boss,” Bird clicked into the coms. “We’ve a small situation out here.”

“Strangely, that is why half of you are there, Bird: to handle situations on that end, while I’m carefully trying not to get blown to bits on this end.”

Sherlock snorted. Then the line of Mag Aoidh’s shoulders went rigid.

He took another step forward as the car door opened and the driver sprinted away.

“Down!”

“Everyone down!”

Self-preservation had never been one of his strong suits. But in spite of his intention to move forward again, a small palm planted itself over his sternum and shoved. Hard. For a moment, he was surprised by just how much force Mag Aoidh had managed to put behind the thrust that had propelled him behind the mastiff and flat on his back.

Then the car exploded.


	22. Chapter 22

Mycroft frowned as his phone buzzed in his breast pocket. It was neither the time nor the place for calls. He really ought to finish reading this dossier. He really ought to have finished this prior to leaving the office. And he really ought to be better company this morning.

“Are you going to answer that?”

He glanced up and quirked an eyebrow. The buzzing stopped. “No,” he said flatly. The buzzing started again.

“It’ll probably just keep ringing. Buzzing. Annoying you until you answer it.”

“It is, indefinitely, my brother or about my brother. I would rather not know.” The buzzing stopped again.

“That’s a boldfaced lie.”

“Bare-faced.”

“What?”

“The proper expression is bare-faced lie. If you insist upon slandering my character, please do so with accurate parlance.”

The buzzing recommenced and Greg crossed his arms. “Oi, insulting my vocabulary won’t make you any less cross for not knowing everything that’s going on at every second. Don’t be a tit; answer your phone.”

“I will certainly have to excuse myself.”

“Coffee is reheatable. That’s what microwaves are for.”

Mycroft sighed and slid his phone free of its confining pocket. “Ah.” He frowned. “I do have to excuse myself.”

“Will the wonders never cease?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Go take that call.”

Mycroft connected the line as he turned his frown towards Lestrade, hesitating a moment before pacing out of the room. “Yes, put him through.”

“Mr. Holmes? I do apologise for the intrusion. I wouldn’t call if I didn’t deem it… Relevant.”

Mycroft hummed.

“There’s been an explosion, contact in yellow-five-B.”

“Am I to assume this is unusual?” He knew it wasn’t.

“No. But your brother was with Bluestone in the field. I thought you’d rather be kept apprised.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I appreciate the information. Would you have my brother contact me when he returns to Frost?”

“I… Yes. Certainly.”

“Thank you.” Mycroft tilted his head as he considered his next few words. “Sherlock has a nasty habit of not only finding trouble, but instigating it. And he rather tends to emerge smelling of roses somehow. I assure you this will be no different.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft hung up the phone. Suddenly, he was no longer hungry for breakfast.


	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock groaned. The ringing in his ears was terrible enough to upset his balance and there was so much dust in the air he could feel it in his teeth. And for a moment, he couldn’t tell if he was about to be sick or the concussive blast had rattled his pancreas just so. John would have found that thought amusing. John. “John?!” It was more of a wheeze than a shout, and he forced himself to replace the missing air from his lungs and pushed up on his elbows.

The coms clicked on. “Boss?” Mag Aoidh was up. “Boss!” Well, she was halfway up or she was getting there. Sherlock watched as she managed to get her knees underneath herself and her forearm on the ground. It was hard to tell if she was retching or coughing over the ringing in his ears, but she had to brace herself with a hand across her ribs to push upright. “Medhurst, don’t make me come over there!”

Sherlock grumbled again. Shouting into the coms made his head spin.

“No need, Gee. I’m fine.” Nick sounded breathless. “The Major is on top of it.”

“Literally,” Mac chimed in.

Mag Aoidh rolled her eyes and squinted at Sherlock, tilting her head in question. He gave her a weak approximation of a thumbs up and dropped flat onto his back again. It seemed perversely unfair that it was a cloudless, blue sky overhead.

“Check?”

“Aye,” Mac responded.

“Aye,” Rocket echoed.

“Lansley, checking in.”

“Ya. Good out here.”

“Fine. All fine.” Oh good. John was fine.

Mag Aoidh shifted, still on one knee. “Bird?”

“Here.” Bird had clicked on and off the main channel, but was still running chatter in the background. She may not have stopped.

“Loo? You good, kid?”

“My ears are ringing.”

“Faruq?”

“That ruined my sandwich.”

Mag Aoidh snorted and instantly regretted it, clutching at her side again with a grunt.

“Holmes?” Nick cut in.

“He’s here. Not a scratch,” Mag Aoidh flashed him grin. “Might have got his bell rung. But he’ll be fine.”

“Good. Great. Excellent. If the Major here will let me back up, I can render safe and we can get the bloody hell out of this shit show.”

Mag Aoidh twisted to peer around the mastiff and huffed out a careful laugh.

“Looks like you work well under him, Boss,” Bird rejoined the conversation on the coms with amusement.

“That’s the ten years of public school,” Mac chirped.

“The first five years or the second?”

“Shut up, Bird!”

“Boss,” Mag Aoidh interrupted.

“It’s as though you’ve all forgotten that I’m playing with a live bomb. What, Gee?!”

“There were… People. Lots of them… At the cordon.”

“Yes.”

“There… Aren’t anymore.”

“That’s what tends to happen when they run away. Get to the fucking point!”

“Permission to check for survivors.”

“Not in a million years, Gee.”

“But, Sir-”

“I swear to God, Gee, if I have to come back there and draw a diagram explaining why that is just about the worst idea you’ve ever had, I will make you walk out past the cordon to prove my point and you’ll need a medic yourself.”

“Fine,” Mag Aoidh dropped back to sit on her hunkers. “Fucking fine.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I said ‘fine’!” Gee snapped and used the front end of the mastiff to struggle to her feet.

“Good! Crack on!”

“Fucking fine,” she muttered under her breath. After another moment to catch her breath, she toggled the coms again. “Anyone need me?”

“We’re good out front,” Towerblock came back.

“Ta,” Loo replied, “All good.”

“My sandwich. It is a goner.”

Happy that no one else needed anything, she made her way behind the second CV and crossed her arms to glare down at Sherlock. “You’re a tit,” she said flatly.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Is that the best you can do?”

She clenched her jaw and squinted back out at the remains of their cordon. “I can’t tell if you’re serious.” She glanced back down and sighed, holding out a hand. “But the next time someone shouts ‘down,’” she grimaced with the effort it took to pull him up. “Get the fuck down, yeah?”

Sherlock dusted himself off and hummed something that could have been anywhere between an affirmative or negative.

“Holmes!”

Mag Aoidh turned sharply, giving a decisive nod as John stormed into view. “Major.”

“Captain,” he dismissed her with a tilt of his head, and she knew enough to make herself scarce. John crossed his arms and ran his eyes meticulously up the length of Sherlock’s body, finally coming to rest on his face. “Ok?”

Sherlock nodded. “Fine. You alright?”

“Absolutely.”

Sherlock snorted inelegantly. “You’re having fun.”

John’s grin was dangerous. “You’ve no idea.”

It was another hour before they were loading into the CVs to head back to Frost. And John spent that hour watching. He watched as Medhurst managed to finish with the three small IEDs. He listened to the chatter between the infantry. He was well aware of the hushed quiet from the Bleep and local fixer. He wasn’t surprised at the solemn mood as the unit settled in their seats. And he didn’t miss the stiffness in the medic as she tried to find a comfortable position in her seat.

“Good job, Gee,” Nick murmured, clapping a hand on her shoulder as he passed.

John didn’t miss her wince either.


	24. Chapter 24

“Sir?”

“Ah, yes, Padre.” Smith turned from the small, open-flame cooker on his desk, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” Mary hesitated. “Sorry, but what are you doing?”

“Hm?” He glanced at his hands and his desk in confusion. “Oh. Yes. Aji de Gallina.”

“Gesundheit?”

“It’s a Peruvian chicken stew of sorts.” He paused to give a quick stir to the bubbling pot. “Spicy, with garlic, and cheese. Oddly Italian sounding when I describe it like that… My wife has found a new fascination with South American cuisine. I can rather see the appeal.”

“Right. But. Why are you doing that _here?_ ” She pointed down at the floor. “In your office.”

“Ah, yes. My office…” He smiled politely. “Was there something I could do for you?”

“Right… Right… I hope so. See, Sir.” She started gesturing with her hands, and once she’d started, it was as if she couldn’t stop. “I think, well, no, I know rather. Suspect? That one of your officers is… Perhaps struggling… Here…”

“Here in my office?” Smith raised a brow.

“No. Frost. Here in Frost.”

“Ah.” He waited patiently for the next piece of information.

“Well, I was just wondering if you have any advice. Or… Suggestions?”

“For?”

“For… Someone who is struggling… here…”

“Visit the Padre?” Nick strode into the room unannounced and pulled up into parade rest.

“Ah, Captain Medhurst. The Padre and I were just discussing the first rule.”

“Follow the chain of command?” Nick offered with an insincere grin.

Smith made a soft tisking sound, “The other one.”

“Don’t interrupt the Lieutenant Colonel while he’s mastering the art of Peruvian cooking?”

“That’s the one.” Smith went back to stirring the pot.

“I… Right…” Mary nodded. “Yes. Right. I’ll. Sort it. Yes. Of course.” She forced a smile at Nick. “Shout go ok?”

Nick huffed. “If by ‘ok’ you mean, did a car explode at the cordon and come dangerously close to killing my men, then yes. It was very o-kay.”

“I certainly hope it was just close and not a hair beyond that,” Smith announced without turning around.

“No, Sir. We are all in one piece, as are the vehicles. I’ve two whole and uninjured PONTIs, a dusty unit, some rather irritating tinnitus, and solid IED, rendered-safe and ready for the WISWO.”

“That sounds successful to me,” Smith cautiously tested the stew.

“Then don’t ask Gee about it; she doesn’t see it our way.”

“Is Muireann upset?” Mary cut in.

“Probably. Yes.” Nick rolled his eyes. “She’s in a strop at me, but that’s not the point.”

“I should go,” Mary paused, gesturing towards the door. “Check on Geh… Mag Aoidh.”

“Excellent idea, Mary,” Nick held an overly polite expression and followed Mary’s progress out the door. When she’d gone, he turned back to the Lieutenant Colonel. “A word, Sir?”

“Just the one, then?”

Nick sighed. “One will do: Holmes.”

“Holmes?”

“Sherlock Holmes. He’s not exactly combat trained, is he?”

“Major Watson is,” Smith said frankly.

“Yes, and he tackles like a rabid fly-half. That’s not the point.”

“And what, precisely, is the point, Captain?”

Nick sighed. “What the bloody hell is MI-6 doing in the middle of arse-end nowhere Afghanistan?”

Smith tilted his head. “Who said anything about MI-6?”


	25. Chapter 25

“Where’s the boss off ta in such a hurry?”

Mac made a rude gesture with his hand in reply.

Towerblock rolled his eyes and hopped out of the mastiff, dragging a large bag of gear with him. “Anyway, good spot, Bird.”

Bird shook her head, following on his heels. “Gee’s the one that saw it. I just shouted with her.”

“Aye. Thank God for that. Nothing like a pair of ladies screaming at the top of their lungs for meh.”

“That image will haunt me, Mac.” Gee was slow to join them in the yard.

“Well aren’t we all just glad Gee could recognize a bomber at a distance.”

“Oh, leave off, Simon,” Bird tossed her bag towards the tent.

“What should we do to celebrate that? Drinks all around?” Simon sneered. “What’s the one where you mix an IPA with Guinness?”

“Black and tan?” Loo offered.

“Cut it out,” Gee hissed.

Simon plowed on. “Or the one where you drop the shot of cream into the whiskey and Guinness?”

“That’d be a car bomb, Skip,” Mac said frankly.

“Enough, Simon,” Towerblock crossed his arms.

“I know, let’s bake a cake.” Rocket perked up, turning towards Simon with a big grin until Simon added, “We can put ‘Up the Ra’ on it?”

Gee moved like a flash, throwing a solid right hook into Simon’s jaw before he could flinch. And he hit the ground with a squawk as Gee gasped and caught herself with an arm pressed hard to her ribs.

“Oi!” Towerblock shouted.

Rocket gleefully threw his arms around Gee, pulling her three feet clear of Simon’s sprawled form. “Nice punch, Gee!”

“Bitch!” Simon scrambled, trying to find his feet.

John cleared his throat, stepping between them and holding his hands behind his back, fixing Lansley with a stare cold enough to halt him in his tracks. When John finally spoke, it was calm and low and crystal clear. “Captain Mag Aoidh,” his gaze didn’t so much as flicker from Simon’s face. “Med tent. Now, please.”

“Get offa me,” Gee shook free of Rocket’s hold and squared herself. “Sir, I’d rather stay and finish…”

“I said please. It wasn’t a suggestion.” John half turned, twisting just far enough to address Mag Aoidh directly. “You’re bleeding. Med tent. Now.”

Gee shook out her hand and checked her knuckles. Sure they were a bit sore, but no blood. Not that Simon could say the same for his face. For a moment, it looked as though she would object again, but John raised a brow, and Gee snapped her mouth shut before the words managed to escape. After a moment, she gave a sharp nod and spun on her heel, stalking toward the med tent.

Simon dabbed at his nose with heel of his hand gingerly. “I think she broke my nose.”

“Shut the fuck up, Simon!” Bird snatched her kit and headed off towards the DFAC. Mac and Towerblock followed, both shaking their heads in disapproval. Loo sighed and went back to unloading the CV, slowly, and with all the attention he could muster.

Rocket gave Simon a long look. “So there’s no cake?”

“No! There’s NO CAKE! No cake! None!” Simon exploded.

“Sad.” Rocket shrugged and headed to get some food.

“You know,” John began softly, standing unflinchingly in parade rest. “I met a few Lance Corporals in Kandahar.” He tilted his head. “Would have been back about a decade ago now. Chips on their shoulders big enough to feed an army. Obsessed with a person’s height, their pedigree, their faith, their gender.” John trailed off, giving Simon a hard look. “You learn a lot the longer you survive in war.”

Simon shrank. “Like what?”

“Bullets don’t give a shit about any of that.”

“Oh.”

“Nor do bombs. And when you find yourself on the wrong end of one, you need whatever short, Catholic, educated Captain on hand, ready to haul you back onto the safe side.”

Simon sniffed and wiped at his nose again. “But she…”

John raised a brow. “Maybe I wasn’t talking about Mag Aoidh.”


	26. Chapter 26

“I thought this was supposed to be your day off.”

Mycroft frowned at the phone. “There is no such thing.”

“Go on, answer it.”

“I’ve been led to believe that is quite rude.”

Greg grinned. “Answer it.”

He rolled his eyes and connected the line.

“Hello, brother dear.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft kept his greeting terse.

“And here I thought you’d be excited to hear from me.”

“Have you solved the problem?”

“I’m working on it,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Very well. Call me when it’s done.”

“You’ll be happy to know I returned to Frost relatively unscathed. The Lieutenant Colonel suggested you would like to be made aware.”

“I never doubted.”

“Why are you so distracted, Mycroft?” Sherlock paused as if to listen. “You’re in a rush to get me off of the phone. Awfully quiet on your end. Not in the office today? I really hope you aren’t shirking duties simply because I’m not available to see you with your new swain.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft warned. “It is very difficult to unknow a thing.”

“Why would that…”

“Good day, brother dear,” Mycroft disconnected the line.

“So,” Greg began with a lazy smile. “Sherlock is fine, then?”

“It appears.” Mycroft returned the phone to the small table. “He seems to continually interrupt.”

“As little brothers are wont to do.”

“Wont?” Mycroft raised a brow.

“Did you lose your appetite again? Because I’m finding myself famished.”

“Famished?” Mycroft tried not to crack a smile. “Will the wonders of your vocabulary never cease?”


	27. Chapter 27

John pushed into the med tent and was struck with a familiar fondness. Some things never changed. With no more than a glance, the practiced routine of ingrained system made it as easy to find supplies as if he’d stocked the place himself. And be it tradition or discipline, Mag Aoidh kept to the same standards. Even the way she had braced her knuckles against the desk, John wondered if stubbornness was a prerequisite for their vocation. “Sit down, Captain.”

Gee spun a little too quickly to conceal a wince. “Sir. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s absolutely nothing."

John crossed his arms. “Sit.”

“I…” She grit her teeth and crossed her arms in return. “This is my tent!”

John’s brow shot up. “I find it interesting that you continue to think I’m asking.” Gee set her jaw and the corner of John’s mouth twitched. “I’ll tell you what though. You give me five push-ups.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Five.” He gave a nod. “And I’ll leave you be. I won’t believe you, now. But I’ll pretend, and let you carry on as is.”

She glared at him. He waited her out. When it became apparent that pure stubbornness wouldn’t win, Gee swallowed. “It’s…”

“Nothing?” John offered. “Sit.”

With a heavy sigh, Gee eased down onto the cot, only uncrossing her arms to brace her palms against the frame of the bed beside her hips. “It really isn’t that bad.” As a final protest, it was weak. “I’d know if my ribs were broken.”

John fished around for a pair of nitrile gloves and hummed non-committally. “Just like you’ve noticed that you’re still bleeding.”

“My knuckles are absolutely…”

“Not what’s bleeding,” John finished. He jerked his chin up. “Shirt off. Let’s have a look.”

Gee glared at him mutinously. “That’s completely unnecessary.”

“If you behave, I’ll use local before I go fishing for whatever bit of shrapnel is stuck in your shoulder. Shirt off. Let’s have a look.”

She was careful and possibly belligerently slow peeling the shirt off, eyeing the blood-stained tear she’d been unable to see until her shirt was resting in her lap. By the time her arms were back down by her side, John could swear her shoulders were up around her ears with the tension of it.

“Arm up, let me see.” John squatted, dropping below Gee’s eye line. There was a patchwork of purple and red, forming a rather clear pattern down the side of her chest, disappearing into the line of her bra. She’d be lucky if nothing was broken. “Let me know if it hurts, yeah?” He palpated along her ribs, cautious when he reached the deepening bruises.

Gee may have sucked in a breath, winced once or twice, but she shook it off. “Fine. It’s fine.”

“Not broken, then? I’ll just have a quick listen, then I’ll deal with that lac.” It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen them. He had, certainly. But he’d dismissed the scars as old injury. Now, as he auscultated along her back, he could actually give them attention. They were old; old enough to be well healed, or as well healed as they’d ever be. Blotchy patches of darkened, puckered skin seemed to fan across her back and left side. The pattern was vaguely familiar. He set the stethoscope aside. “Sounds ok. Any difficulty taking a deep breath?”

“No. It’s a bit sore, but it’s fine.”

“Fine… I sodding well hate that word,” John muttered. “It’ll be easier for me to get at that lac if you’re lying down. Make yourself comfortable there, and I’ll fix that right up.” He pulled out the supplies, gave the jagged cut a cursory clean, and settled down to work. “It’s funny,” he said finally.

“Hm?” Gee winced as he injected local.

“You’re the one that saw that car.”

“Jesus, you too?” Gee shifted enough that John set a hand on her back to still her.

“You saw it. You warned everyone. And yet…” He set down the local and gave the wound a proper clean.

“Yet what?”

“You’re the only one injured.”

Gee was quiet.

“Ah,” he pulled the small metal fragment out triumphantly. “Nice little souvenir.”

Gee sighed. “No thanks.”

“So. You see this car. Bird confirms it. You both shout. And then, instead of taking cover, and you were damn close to all the cover you’d need. You’re what? Out in front of the CVs?”

“You were busy sitting on my boss, so what does it matter?”

“I’m curious,” John grinned and started suturing.

“I hear that’s bad for soldiers and cats.”

“And yet…” John paused to negotiate an awkward angle. “Something, something about satisfaction?”

Gee snorted. “Are you familiar with the Rolling Stones?”

“And just how old do you think I am?” He saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “Don’t answer that. God only knows when my arthritis will act up and you’ll be left with an ugly scar.”

“Too late.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said firmly.

He was nearly done when Gee broke the silence. “It’s because Mr. Holmes is a giant tit.”

“Why is Sher…” John frowned, his hands hovering mid-suture. “Oh God. He didn’t.”

Gee’s face twitched. “I don’t know what you think he didn’t do, but he probably definitely did it.”

John groaned. “For the love of…”

“GEE!” Mag Aoidh startled, pushing up onto her forearms as Nick stormed into the med tent. “For fuck’s sake, Gee! Tell me you didn’t punch our lance corporal in the face!”

Gee’s face coloured. “I… don’t like lying, Sir?”

“Goddammit, Gee!” Nick roared. “Why?!”

John sighed softly. “Captain Medhurst, I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but I’m in the middle of medic-ing your medic.” He tilted up his chin. “As she is more wounded than the affronted and hardly injured party, I am going to need you to step outside.”

Nick glared. “Are you ordering me out, Major?”

John put on a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That was me asking.”

“Right,” Nick ground out through gritted teeth. “Gee, you and I need to talk. Whenever you’re done… Getting… Stitched… Bloody hell, Gee, what did you even do?”

Gee lowered herself back down onto the cot. “Bounced off the mastiff, ta very much.”

“I still have that car shrapnel around here if he wants it,” John offered wryly.

“No… I meant…” Nick waved broadly.

“Oh.” Gee rested her chin on the back of her arms and settled so that John could finish. “You’re not the only one injured in the line of duty.”

Nick stared. “You told me I only had a flesh wound.”

“Ye did,” she said flatly.

“Oh.”

“Captain,” John raised a brow. “Out.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Nick cleared his throat and bobbed his head, pulling another double take as he left the tent.


	28. Chapter 28

“Fucking hell, Nick!” Bird squawked as Nick walked into her.

“Jesus, Bird. Can’t you bother looking where you’re going?"

Bird planted her hands on her hips and glared. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just yell at me, shall I?”

“Pretend all you want, Bird.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not…” He paused and tilted his head, caught in a vague notion.

“Not what?"

“Actually, Bird,” he threw an arm around her shoulder. “You’re exactly the person I need.”

“Sod off.” She gave him a shove and resumed her rapid stride across the yard.

“Bird, wait,” he caught up easily and cut her off, stooping to make himself look smaller. “I need your help.”

Bird laughed. “You’re funny,” she gave him a fake smile. “And I’m not interested.” Then she side stepped him and strode away.

Nick rolled his eyes, then rolled his head to the side as he spun to catch back up. “Listen, Bird. You share a bunk with Gee.”

Bird stopped suddenly and crossed her arms. “Absolutely not, Nick.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“I don’t have to. The answer is no.”

“Just a bit of information. Bird, please.” He pouted.

“You’re a dick.”

“I know that already,” he grinned. “What I want to know is if you’ve seen Gee without her shirt on.”

“Nick!” She cuffed him upside the back of his head and tried to storm off.

“No, Bird, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, you didn’t, did you? Not trying it on with her too now?”

“I’m not trying it on with anybody!” he shouted, throwing his hands up. He frowned at the passing private he’d managed to startle with his outburst and glared. “Carry on!”

Bird huffed and turned to leave.

“Bird, I’m not. I swear,” he crossed his fingers over his heart. “On my honour as a gentleman.”

Bird scoffed.

“Oh, right. On my mother’s grave?”

“Your mum is alive,” Bird scowled. “I’ve met her, remember? She’s lovely. Which was quite a surprise.”

“Fine. On my reputation as a private school twat.”

“That I’ll believe.”

“Bird, please.”

“Swear on the silver spoon you have shoved up your arse.”

“Fine! Now I want you to think. Have you ever seen Gee without her shirt on?”

“Nick!” Bird snapped her mouth shut and gave him a long look. “Of course I have. We share a bunk. So we spend the nights plaiting each other’s hair and having pillow fights in our non-regulation lingerie.”

Nick’s eyes glazed as he considered it.

“Ugh!” Bird punched his arm. “We don’t!”

“Yeah, you totally do.” He winked at her. “Right, but have you? Think about it. In all the time you’ve shared a bunk. Has she come back from a shower? Asked you to rub her shoulders?”

Bird closed her eyes and sighed, asking for patience that was long vanished. “No, Nick. In all the few short months I’ve shared a bunk with Gee, I cannot recall seeing her with her shirt off. Happy?”

He frowned. “No.”

“You’re not happy?” Mary asked, joining the conversation abruptly. “Why? What are we talking about?”

“We’re talking about Gee with her shirt off,” Bird smiled widely and clapped both Nick and Mary on the arms. “Enjoy.” She made a quick escape.

Nick groaned. “We’re not…”

“Not?” Mary’s eyebrows went up. “You weren’t just talking about Captain Mag Aoidh without a shirt?”

“No.” Nick blinked and tilted his head in thought. “But now that you mention it…”

“Nick!” Mary smacked his arm.


	29. Chapter 29

Simon stormed into his bunk, shucking his ruck roughly into a corner of the room. “Bitch,” he hissed under his breath.

“Alright?”

Simon glared at the extra person in his semi-private space. “No, mate. I’m not ‘alright.’ In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sodding well bleeding! Screwhole, tell your REME mate here to piss off!”

Screwhole raised a brow at Simon, pausing the game they were in the middle of. “He has a name.”

“Does he? Is it as entertaining as yours?”

“Took you three months to learn mine, and we’d been on the same base for a whole tour before that,” Screwhole muttered.

Simon fumed, his face turning red as he bellowed. “What is your point?!”

It was with a sigh, but Screwhole set his controller on the floor at his feet and stood, marking his superior height and size with the simple action. “My point is that this is a shared room, Lansley.”

Simon glared and clenched his hands into fists. “And?”

“And maybe,” Screwhole said softly. “You ought to go see the medic if you’re injured.”

“I don’t need the fucking medic!” Simon squawked.

Screwhole just stood there, in the middle of the room, watching Simon quietly. “Medic or not. Go wash the blood off your face before you bleed on your uniform.”

“You’re not my mother!” Simon snapped and headed for the door. He paused in the open space, the drape held firmly aside, and turned back. “And I’m not going because you said to, I’m going because… It… Itches!” Then he stomped back out the door.

Screwhole dropped back into his folding chair and unpaused the game, resuming the play-action without a batting an eye.

“Why do you even bother with him?”

Screwhole grunted.

“You could toss him outta here faster than anything.”

“Could do. But it’s handy having a bunkmate that’s never here.”

“Be handier if he weren’t around ever.”

Screwhole smirked. “Shove it, Dickwrench.”


	30. Chapter 30

Sherlock sat with his index fingers pressed together against the bow of his mouth, staring, rather unseeingly, out at the yard in front of the DFAC. Most people would think he was lost in thought; Sherlock was never _lost._ Or that he was working through a particularly hard problem; while that would be closer to the truth, he was, in fact, working through a large number of problems simultaneously. That he had learned to tune out the drone of, well, everything going on around him just helped the more unobservant along in their incorrect thinking. Of course, the obvious exception to the rule, as usual, was John Watson.

_Sherlock_

Oddly, John seemed to be the exception to most rules. His proficiency with and willingness to brandish a fire arm along side his dedication to the Hippocratic oath. His size and stature compared to his competence and confidence. His ability to blend, appear unassuming, benign, and amiable while in actuality, he was gruff, even belligerent, bull-headed, secretive, and absolutely brilliant.

“Sherlock.”

A man of comfort. The jumpers, tea, mindless books, food. Routine. Home.

“Sherlock.”

And yet, he would throw himself into a war zone simply because Sherlock had asked him to. Return to a goliath of a machine that had chewed him up and spit him out, and fling himself between anyone and danger without batting an eye.

“I know you can hear me and it’s annoying.”

And for what reward? Not financial. And certainly not fame. More often than not, John was ignored in favor of flouting the celebrity of Sherlock himself.

“Oi, genius!”

Sherlock blinked at the irritating sensation of someone repeatedly poking his forehead. “What?” he snapped.

John smiled. “There you are.”

He frowned. “Where else would I be?”

John’s smile didn’t waver. “Where are you ever? Eat.”

“What?”

“Dinner.” John gestured at the now packed DFAC. “Eat. And don’t tell me you aren’t hungry. I don’t care what you want; you’ll eat the dinner I put there in front of you while it’s still warm, or so help me, the words I have for you later will be even more cross than they already are.”

Sherlock glanced at the food, then up at John. “And why is it you have cross words for me?”

John’s grin was wolfish, “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“I was unaware that was a problem to which I was required to attend,” he said dismissively, picking up a fork and poking at the food. “Is this supposed to be edible?”

“It is. Eat.”

“You know, I joined for the free food!” Rocket cut in.

Sherlock startled and leaned away. “The subtlety of Scottish cuisine lost on your discerning palate?” John hid a chuckled by stuffing a large forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. Sherlock frowned at him, “When did he even get here?”

“I don’t know if you noticed-wait. No, I know you didn’t notice. It’s dinnertime. Everyone is here to eat.” John pointed a fork at Sherlock’s plate. “Which you ought to get back to.”

“Yes,” Sherlock drawled. “So you can share those cross words with me.”

John sighed and set down his fork. “Have you even started on the software?”

“I know you’ve been working on the hardware.”

John crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Keep going, smart arse.”

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. “The upgrade is fully installed. I simply release sections of it every day to appear productive.”

“You know what I do to appear productive?” Mac interrupted. He paused and grinned.

“Don’t say it,” Bird groaned.

“Yer ma!”

“Jesus,” Gee shook her head.

Sherlock blinked.

John rubbed a hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Nick set his tray down at the head of the table. “Are we talking about Rocket’s mum again? Haven’t we done that enough?”

“I know I have,” Mac snickered.

“Hey!” Rocket objected.

“Look what you’ve started,” John muttered.

“I did no such thing,” Sherlock took a bite glumly then stared at the food as though it had personally offended him. “This is not food, John.”

John raised a brow. “If you’re done eating, I’d like a word.” He rose and gestured toward their bunk. “In private.” Sherlock sighed and pushed back from the table, making to follow John.

Rocket caught him before he could leave. “Are you going to eat that?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disbelief. “No.”

“Can I have it?”

Sherlock nudged the tray in his direction. “Please.”

“Sherlock!”

He spun on his heel and strode quickly to catch up with John.


	31. Chapter 31

"What are you doing hiding out in here?"

Loo frowned up at Towerblock, "I'm not hiding, right. I'm cleaning my gun."

Towerblock crossed his arms. "Ya know everyone is in the mess. Eating. Food."

Loo scoffed. "Rocket is eating, Mac is being disgusting, Nick is being a pompous twat, Gee and Bird are likely about to kill them all, and Simon is sulking in a corner."

 Towerblock's mouth twitched as he pressed his lips together. It wasn't a frown as he nodded slowly. "Probably."

When he didn't leave, Loo frowned again and set his gun down. "Anything else?"

"You know," Towerblock dropped onto the bench across the table. "I didn't have you pegged as a 'clean my gun alone' kinda infantry."

"No? How'd you have me pegged?"

"I didn't. Just," he gestured at the gun. "Wasn't thinking this."

Loo hummed absently.

"Alright?"

"Yeah. Fine."

Towerblock grinned. "No you're not. What's eatin at you?"

"Nothing," Loo answered too quickly.

"Right."

"Fine," Loo sighed. "I don't get... Why didn't Nick let Gee check on them?"

"It wasn't safe," Towerblock said honestly.

"But there could have been people that needed our help."

"Could of. But it's not worth losing our medic to an unspotted IED to see if someone might need her. It's not fair, but if she'd gone and someone took a shot at her, had another bomb, left a landmine..."

"I get it."

"It's a shit choice, but Nick made the right one."

"Mmn," Loo traced a dent in the table with his finger. "And punching Simon?"

Towerblock grinned. "Wrong choice but fair?"

Loo huffed. "You know, I joined the army because I was sick of politics and just wanted have a clear idea of what I was supposed to do."

 Towerblock laughed. "Everything you do from marching to taking a piss is political."

"I'm getting that."

"Look, Loo. It's not all bad. You just have to finish finding your feet. As much as I hate to say, Mac and Rocket are good role models. Don't ever tell them I said that."

"Maybe if you rolled them together."

"Never say roll in front of them."

"Ha!"

"Just don't act like Simon, and you'll be fine."

"I'll keep that in mind," Loo smiled.

"Do. And food. You need to eat."

"Y'sir."


	32. Chapter 32

John marched towards their designated bunk in a style that could only be described as militant. And while Sherlock was happy to follow, happily watching as he followed; he also was well aware that John was epically cross. And if that made John stand a little taller, square his shoulders that much further, and stride just a bit longer, well… It was hard to be disappointed in the outcome.

“Holmes?”

Sherlock pulled up short, “Ah, yes. Nuttall, was it?”

“Everyone calls me Nutsack.”

Sherlock grimaced, but the expression was gone in a flash. “Yes… Nut-sack.”

He chuckled and smacked Sherlock on the back of the shoulder. “There ya go!”

John joined the conversation with a quick nod. “WISWO.”

“Major. You still kicking around with this one?” He jerked at thumb at Sherlock.

John’s smile was professionally cold. “Didn’t manage to lose him in the field today. I think I’m stuck with him.”

“Shame,” Nuttall chuckled.

Sherlock huffed.

“Don’t be like that,” Nuttall chuckled. “If you’re anything like Medhurst, we can be mates. I can steal your fiancée, you can punch me in the face, and we’ll be right as rain.”

Sherlock scowled. “I’m sorry, but if all you needed was an audience for poor humor, I’m afraid Major Watson was about to read me the riot act. So if you don’t mind.”

“I do actually,” Nuttall tilted his head towards the Det. “I had a chance to look at the IED ATO pulled out of the ground today, and I think there’s something funny about it. Mind having a nosey?”

Sherlock raised a brow, deferring to John’s better judgment. Or rather giving John a chance to object and return to his planned dressing-down. Instead, he got a small nod.

“What do you mean by funny?” John asked carefully.

“It’s not up to standard with the usual. Or maybe it’s above standard. Just figure it’s not right and I’d appreciate a second set of eyes.”

John made a soft sound of encouragement and waited for Nuttall to lead away. “Any reason to include Captain Medhurst in this brain storming session?”

“Well, he has the odd idea that isn’t total shite.” Nuttall scrunched his face as he faced the DFAC. “Eating dinner, is he?”

“That is where we left him,” Sherlock muttered.

“Oi! MEDHURST!”

Sherlock blinked rapidly, as if the shout had blurred his vision as well as sent his ears ringing. John bit back a grin. “Well, he’s not eating now.”

“FUCK OFF, NUTSACK!”

“Well that was rude,” Sherlock whispered to John.

John chuckled. “That was probably deserved.”

“RED ROVER, RED ROVER!”

“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker,” Medhurst joined them in the middle of the yard. “There are some stories that are inappropriate for the innocent ears, Nutsack.”

Nuttall grinned. “No innocents left here, ya twat.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Now that I’ve been forced to abandon the culinary delight that Biffa managed with what I can only assume was congealed maggots and red colored paste, what can I possibly do for you?”

Sherlock shuddered at the description. “Your good friend and WISWO feels the IED you delivered is an aberration of some sort.”

“It’s sodding peculiar,” Nutsack offered.

Nick heaved a large sigh. “And it’s something that I personally have to see, is it?”

“No, not you personally.” Nutsack squared off with Nick. “But you’re supposed to be the ATO; figure it’s in the job description. Thought you’d know stuff about the shit you pull out of the ground sometimes.”

“Yes and ‘intelligence’ is in the WISWO job description, yet they let you soldier on anyway,” Nick snapped back.

“Boys,” John interrupted.

Nick squinted down at John, “I’m trying to recall why exactly you’re here, Major.”

Sherlock actually sneered, “His clearance is higher than yours.”

“I have life experience, Captain,” John added wryly. “And I like to keep… on top of the problems.”

Sherlock bit back the urge to laugh as Nick tilted his head in exasperation. “The pair of you are the worst bloody PONTIs I’ve had to handle.”

“Really? I heard you had an MP on base and there was a car bomb.” John smiled benignly. “That must have been a worse situation.”

“As much as I love having my balls raked over hot coals, I still put on my blast pants every morning.” Nick heaved another sigh. “Alright, Nutsack. Let’s see this oddity of yours.”

Nuttall grinned. “Alright then.” And he headed towards the Det with Nick a half-pace behind.

Sherlock leaned in over John’s shoulder. “What exactly are ‘blast pants’?”

John laughed.


	33. Chapter 33

“Fuck,” Gee hissed as she managed to tug her shirt off. “Stupid, sodding…” She tossed the shirt into her footlocker and peeled her t-shirt off as well. “Goddammit.” She poked at the dressing on her shoulder, checking her fingertips for blood. It felt like it was oozing a bit, but they came away dry and clean. For all the dusty and grimy she felt, a shower was out of the question. God, the bra was going to be a pain in the arse. Letting out a steady stream of profanity, she struggled out of the bra and into an old long sleeved tee. Getting into sleep clothes was almost too much work. With a final sigh, she dropped onto her bed.

“Knock, knock.”

Gee winced. “Yup?”

“Captain Mag Aoidh? How are you?”

Gee cleared her throat and pushed up to prop her back against the wall. “Fine, thanks, Padre.”

Mary edged into the small room with a forced sympathetic smile. “It’s just I heard that you…”

“Padre!” Bird pushed into the room and flopped inelegantly onto her own bunk. “Did you hear that Gee punched out Simon?” She grinned and raised her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry? What?”

“Bird, please.”

“Oh yeah,” Bird nodded. “Gee clocked him. Right in his stupid, smug face.”

“Gee, why?”

“What?” Gee held up her hands.

“Not like all of us haven’t thought about it,” Bird offered.

“Corporal Bird, I don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate…”

“I mean, what was it like, Gee?” Bird sat forward with gleeful attention.

Gee bit back a grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mary sighed, “And here I came to see if you were alright.”

“M’fine, ta.”

“Ta,” Bird echoed.

“Right.” Mary looked at each of them in turn.

Bird and Gee glanced at each other and back at the Padre.

“Right,” Mary repeated. “Captain Mag Aoidh, if you need anything…”

“I know where to find you,” Gee finished.

“Yes…”

Bird nodded slowly at the Padre in the ensuing silence.

“Right,” Mary nodded. “I’ll just…”

“Mmn,” Gee nodded.

“Yeah,” Bird gave a small flick of her hand.

“Yes. Night then.”

When the door swung shut behind her, Gee and Bird exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

“Ow, ow, ow. Stop,” Gee gasped. “Fuck. Stop.”

Bird chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny.”

Gee hummed and shook her head. “It was kinda funny.”

“Yeah.” Bird stretched out on her back. “Yeah, it was. You alright?”

“Hm?” Gee glanced over.

“Your shoulder. Looked sore enough.”

“Mn,” Gee nodded. “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah?”

Gee shrugged with her good shoulder.

“That why Nick was going on about it? Does it look awful?”

“What was he going on about?”

“You,” Bird gestured broadly. “And what I can only assume is a serious war wound.”

Gee shook her head. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Bird sighed up at the ceiling. “But really, Gee. What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Punching Simon in the face?”


	34. Chapter 34

“What, exactly am I looking at here?” John asked, gesturing at the table.

“It’s the guts of the killer Medhurst pulled out of the ground today,” Nutsack replied, gesturing to each part in turn. “Pressure plate and switch, initiator, nice heaping of C4.”

“It’s fairly standard,” Nick added.

“As standard as standard can be here,” Nutsack finished.

“Then what exactly is the problem?” Sherlock poked the pressure plate with his index finger. “You mentioned that it wasn’t standard.”

“Ya, it’s not.” Nutsack crossed his arms and glared at the pieces.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Nutsack threw up his arms. “I’ve been staring at it since ya gave it to me and I can’t come up with any good reason, but it’s not normal.”

Nick frowned. “It was all fairly straightforward to disarm. It wasn’t on a chain like the last few. It almost felt too easy.”

“Except for the car bomb,” John offered.

Nick scoffed. “Yes. The car bomb was a surprise.”

Sherlock picked up the battery to scrutinize it. “Do you often find this brand out here?”

“Every brand, really,” Nutsack answered. “And nine volt is the battery of choice.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

“What is it?”

Sherlock flicked his eyes towards John and raised a brow.

“Sherlock…”

He hummed again and touched the tip of the battery to his tongue.

“Sherlock!”

He wrinkled his nose and processed the taste. “Interesting.”

“Christ, Sherlock. Really?”

Nutsack huffed out a laugh. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Excuse me,” Nick interjected. “Public school gentlemen do not kiss their mothers.”

“No wonder you’re all so uptight,” Nutsack chuckled.

“I thought it was the silver spoons,” Nick said flatly.

John shook his head and pulled his palm back from his face. “Fucks sake. We’ve talked about this, Sherlock. You don’t lick the evidence.”

Nick grinned. “Done this before, has he?”

“All the time.” John tugged the battery from Sherlock’s hand and replaced it on the table. “Why?”

“Just testing a theory,” Sherlock answered.

“And?”

“Battery is dead,” Sherlock said simply.

“You know there’s a multimetre for that,” John frowned.

“This was quicker.”

John groaned. “You are insufferable. Does this help at all?”

Nutsack shrugged. “Sometimes the IEDs are in the ground long enough to drain the batteries. Nine volts last longer than some, but not all that long.”

John sighed. “Fine. Where do the wires normally come from?”

“Oh, John, that is brilliant!”

“What?” Medhurst glanced between them. “Wires come from scraps you’d find in all the old Soviet refuse.”

“Yeah, right, okay. But that,” John gestured at the table. “Looks like new, fresh wire. And I’m pretty sure that’s the Fulton logo there on the pressure plate.”

Sherlock was grinning at John. Nick frowned, “Fulton, like the Yankee brand?”

“Exactly,” Sherlock hummed.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, where would they get a brand new Fulton for this?” John asked.

“Where indeed,” Sherlock purred.


	35. Chapter 35

“Listen, if the pair of ya don’t shut up, I will make ya shut up!”

“All I’m sayin is that Skip was well buggered today.”

“Why does that need to be said, Mac?”

Rocket giggled. “Gee buggered Skip!”

“It was a Geih buggering!” Mac crowed.

“Geih!” Rocket echoed.

“Fucking hell.” Towerblock punched his pillow.

“Is that physically possible?” Loo groaned.

“Well if it isn’t, then we witnessed a miracle today,” Mac offered. “And I, for one, feel blessed.”

“Then will you please, shut the blessed fock up?” Towerblock grumbled.

“You know what I still don’t understand?”

“Many things?” Loo offered.

“Well, yeah, but why Gee?” Rocket asked.

“Why Geih what?”

“Not Geih, Gee. Why Gee?”

“Rocket…” Towerblock pressed his pillow over his face.

“It just seems an odd nickname.”

“It’s her name,” Mac said flatly. “Just like Loo is short for Llewellyn.”

“Ha! Loo,” Rocket chuckled.

“Stuff it,” Loo groused.

“Is that spelled with two ‘L’s or one?”

“It’s… Just one…” Loo shook his head slowly. “You know what? Doesn’t matter.”

“So… Gee is short for Mag Aoidh?”

“Yes!” all three of them chorused.

“And it’s Gee, not Geih?”

Towerblock shouted an obscenity into his pillow, then leaned over the edge of his bunk to swing the thing at Rocket. “Ya, you plonker.”

“I just think it’s funny that you’ve all decided that _that_ is the funny part of her name,” Loo mumbled.

“What?”

“Do not,” Towerblock threatened.

“No, no, no,” Mac waved him off. “Tell us.”

Loo sighed. “Mag Aoidh or MaGee as a name. Gee is slang for…” He gestured vaguely.

“For wha?” Rocket blinked.

“Now you’ve done it.”

“For, you know…”

“No, Ah don’t,” Mac propped himself up on his elbows.

“It’s… I mean… In Ireland… Gee is… Like a…” Loo flushed bright enough that his ears were practically glowing in the room. “Itsavagina.”

“Huh?” Mac wrinkled his nose.

“Vagina,” Loo repeated. “VAGINA!”

“Oh. My. God,” Mac whispered.

“Oh my God, Shut UP!” Towerblock hollered back.

“How could you keep this from me?” Mac demanded. “This is life changing.”

“So… Bird is a bird,” Rocket started. “And Gee is…”

“Wow,” Loo shook his head.

“No. No, look,” Towerblock glared over the edge of his bunk at Mac then at Rocket. “If any one of you mentions this, I will personally make sure you have months of the worst KP you can imagine.”

“Fine,” Mac muttered disappointedly.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Loo sighed. “I’m well aware…”

Mac chuckled. “Loo.”

“Stuff it!” Towerblock snapped. “And go the fock to sleep!”

The room quieted as all four of them settled into their bunks. Towerblock shoved his pillow under his head and finally closed his eyes.

“Wait…” Rocket broke the silence. “Does Rocket mean anything?”

Mac burst out laughing again.


	36. Chapter 36

John sighed and dropped onto his bunk. “Sherlock.”

“But then, the Americans haven’t been this far out in Afghanistan in years. So where would they-“

“Sherlock,” John raised his voice.

“And even getting their hands on one, why bother with the-“

“SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock paused and turned, a furrow creasing his face. “If this is about the battery, would it placate you should I promise not to stick another on my tongue?”

John crossed his arms. “Not really. Sit.”

“Why?”

“I want you at strangling height,” John said flatly.

“Oh yes, of course. You are cross with me for some reason.”

“For some… Sherlock, I’m not cross with you. I’m fucking livid.”

Sherlock frowned and perched on the edge of his cot. “Livid?”

John leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “I spent an hour today stitching up Captain Mag Aoidh. And that makes me cross, Sherlock. She was lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it, because the shrapnel missed her vest by an inch and managed to slice into her shoulder.”

“I thought you said you were livid.”

“Shut up, Sherlock. Shut up right now. I need you to listen to me. This is important.”

He gave a very slow nod. “Alright.”

“Captain Mag Aoidh narrowly avoided a few broken ribs, and eked by with just a handful of stitches. That I have to spend any of my time patching these kids up makes me cross. What makes me livid, Sherlock, is that she was out of position, she was injured to protect you.”

“Ah.”

“It could have been so much worse. What if there’d been a shooter? She was exposed. And yes, she was doing her job, but you don’t get to make that harder. I know what we do, how we work, what we,” he gestured back and forth between them. “Are like. But that doesn’t work here. Do you understand? I need you to trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.”

“You trust that if you tear off on some case, I’ll have your back. And I do. You trust me to have a gun, or throw a good punch, or play foil to your wit. I do that every day, Sherlock. It’s what we do. But not here.”

“Alright.”

“I need you to… I don’t know,” John rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just…”

“Follow you?”

John huffed. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“And this would make you… less livid?” Sherlock raised a brow in question.

“It would go a long way to keep me from strangling you.”

“Well we can’t have that.”

“No,” John’s shoulders sagged in relief or exhaustion or both. “No, we can’t.”

“Then I shall endeavor to follow your lead, Sir.”

John barked out a laugh as a flush reached the tips of his ears. “Fuck off.”


	37. Chapter 37

“Knock knock?”

Mary looked up from her desk. “Nick? Hi.” She shuffled the papers away quickly. “Come in, come in,” she waved him into the room. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh. Er, that’s good then.” He dropped into the spare seat and stretched his legs out. “Look, Mary, I was hoping you could… Lend me a hand.”

“I’m not giving you a hand job, Nick.”

“I wasn’t going to-Why would you think I’d-“ Nick snapped his mouth shut and furrowed his brow. “What about a blow job?”

“No!”

“Right. No. That would be…”

“Inappropriate!” Mary exclaimed.

“Of course. But also not why I’m here.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“No, I need a hand with… the morale on my team.”

Mary sighed. “I already tried to talk to Ge-Captain Mag Aoidh. I don’t think she appreciates my input.”

Nick grinned. “I don’t think she appreciates mine either. And frankly, she’s right. I’m not even cross that she punched Simon. I wanted to, and you know how culturally sensitive I am.”

Mary frowned at him.

“I need you to talk to Simon.”

“Nick…”

“He’s got to see reason. He’s making everyone uncomfortable.”

“Yes, but…”

“Everyone,” he said seriously.

“I’m not sure what you think I can do.”

“You’re the Padre,” he lifted his hands. “Do… Padre-ing, or something!”

“Nick…”

“Please?”

Mary sighed. “Fine. Fine. But when I need a help with the Halloween party in two weeks, I fully expect you to volunteer.”

Nick rolled his eyes, then rolled his head. “Really?”

“Enthusiastically.”

Nick groaned.

Mary raised a brow.

“This is extortion.”

“You know what they say,” Mary smiled pleasantly. “I scratch your back…”

“We shag in the showers?”

Mary’s face pulled in disgust. “Nick!”

He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll help with your Halloween thing.”

“Good.” Mary gave a nod.

“And you’ll… Talk to Simon?”

“As the Padre.” She blinked at Nick, who was still sitting in the chair. “Anything else?”

“That’s a no to the shower then?”

“Out!”


	38. Chapter 38

John sipped his coffee as the squad slowly trickled into the DFAC for breakfast. Mac and Rocket were already halfway through their food before sitting. Medhurst was finishing a cigarette before entering the tent. Loo and Gordo staggered in together, taking more time and care than the other lads, but eating with enthusiasm nonetheless. Bird dropped her tray unceremoniously between Loo and Mac, and the banter began.

Gordon tilted his head, inviting John over, but he shook it off. He was much happier to watch. It wasn’t observing, as Sherlock would say, but it gave him information. Gordon dumped his tray and joined John instead. “Gordo,” John tilted his cup.

“Major,” Towerblock grinned.

“You always were a smart arse,” John murmured.

“Learned from the best.”

John snorted. “So… Working your way up to ATO, are you? I don’t think Bill taught you that one.”

“Said it was less dangerous than the suck he chased you into.”

“Oi,” John nudged him with an elbow. “It was his idea at least half the time.”

Towerblock laughed. “Not the way he tells it.”

“Right. Well. He’s old, Gordo, and his memory is going.” John took a long sip of his coffee. “So.”

“So.”

“How’re things here?”

“Things?” Towerblock gave him a lop-sided grin. “Things are good.”

“If they were good, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you need to know?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to schlep out here with you lads.”

He hummed and crossed his arms, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Well. We’ve been busy.”

“Busier than normal?”

“Maybe, ya. Feels like everything is taking longer than usual. Longer to set cordon, longer to sweep and flag, longer to disarm… It all seems way more draining than before.”

“How long’s that been going on?”

“Forever,” Towerblock groaned.

John nodded. “Can you narrow it down some?”

“Maybe just after Loo got here.”

“And Mag Aoidh?”

He sighed and frowned. “Ya.”

John made a thoughtful sound. “How’s the squad doing with it?”

“Nick is happier than a pig in shit.”

John barked out a laugh. “The crazy ones always are.”

“Mac and Rocket wouldn’t notice anything short of their own castrations. Bird is Bird, she doesn’t complain, not really. I think she likes having another girl around the place. Loo is adjusting. He’s still pretty green, but a right enough bloke. And everyone seems to like Gee. Not just us, but the base.”

John raised a brow.

“Right, well, no one actually likes Simon. So he doesn’t count.”

“Tell me about the Padre?”

He shrugged. “Mary’s decent enough, I suppose. Bit uptight. Nick wants to pull her. Everyone knows. They’ll probably never do it.”

“No?”

“Probably better they don’t. It’s a nice distraction for them.”

“I see. And… Your fixer. Faruq. What about him?”

“I’ve never doubted him. He can get you anything, and I wouldn’t swear by his methods, but I can’t question that he’s on our side.”

“Right. Good. Have I left anyone out?”

Towerblock scratched at his chin and John almost smiled at how reminiscent it was of Murray. “The Lieutenant Colonel I suppose. But he called you in, didn’t he?”

“Mmn. He is unusual…”

“I heard you have a thing for higher-ups.”

“You bite your tongue,” John elbowed him. Hard.

Towerblock laughed. “Are you denying it?”

“I would never… Not… At least not again…” John trailed off as Gee slowed to a trot approaching the DFAC. “Hey look, there’s your medic.”

“She always does that. Likes to run in the morning incase the day is slow.”

“Gee!” Medhurst boomed, clapping her on the shoulder. John winced sympathetically as the faint smile on her face wavered. “Tell me we’re in for an interesting day.”

Gee shifted her sunglasses up onto her forehead and blinked at him. “You are standing between me and my coffee. Today is about to be more interesting than you’re physically able fer.”

“You’re an unholy terror, Gee.”

“You’re a public school twat with less charm than sense.”

“You wound me!”

“I will if you don’t put that fecking fag out and eat breakfast.”

“I’ll eat if you shower.”

“Feck off.”

“They’re always like that as well,” Towerblock murmured.

“There were days that I’d murder anyone between me and a cuppa. I’m not going to judge her too harshly,” John replied, straightening up in his chair as Sherlock made an appearance.

“Well I’m off,” Towerblock slipped out of his chair and disappeared before Sherlock could make his way to the small table.

A moment later, Towerblock’s seat was occupied again. “Captain,” John gave Gee a nod.

“Major.” Her posture was a bit too upright.

“How’s the shoulder?”

She rolled her left shoulder and tilted her head non-committally. “Still works.”

“Ribs then?”

She grunted and took a sip of her coffee. “I can still run.”

“Mmn, well.” John took a mirroring drink to drain his cup. “Let me know if it’s worse.”

“Sure.”

John turned as Sherlock cleared his throat. “Mornin.”

“Good morning. I wonder if I might have a word with Captain Mag Aoidh?”

John raised his brows but glanced at his empty mug. “I was due a refill.” He could feel Sherlock’s eyes track his progress to the coffee. But even the distance wasn’t enough to hide the rumble of Sherlock’s voice. Maybe it was how well attuned John was to the sound or maybe Sherlock had pitched his voice just so John could hear. Either way, it wasn’t a private conversation.

“Mr. Holmes.”

“Captain,” Sherlock took John’s chair. “I would like to apologise.”

Gee blinked. “What?”

Sherlock shifted. “Apologise.”

There was another pause. “Why?”

“I believe my actions were partially, if not entirely responsible for your injury.”

“We get hurt all the time.”

“Yes, but what I did exposed you. It was an unnecessary risk. And I apologise.”

Gee watched him for a long moment. “Alright.”

“Thank you. It won’t happen again.”

“Ta.” Gee gave a nod. “But it will.”


	39. Chapter 39

“Hello, brother dear.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Sherlock. Another call in less than a day? How pleasant.”

“I need information.”

“Do you?”

“It’s important.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“You have been granted sufficient clearance. What more could you need?”

“Something from overseas.”

Mycroft sighed again. “Sherlock.”

“You can get it for me. I need it.”

“Has it crossed your mind that I do not, in fact, possess that level of information?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sherlock,” he warned.

“It could mean I finish sooner.”

“And have you back in London, able to make these demands in person, all the sooner? How will I ever cope?”

“Mycroft.”

“Perhaps if you make use of all the resources at your disposal first.”

Sherlock grumbled.

“Have you considered that one of Her Majesty’s Majors have rather high clearance as well?”

“You didn’t.”

“There are benefits to every promotion, Sherlock.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Stop meddling.”

“Is meddling not why you called in the first place?”

Sherlock made a disgusted noise and disconnected the line.


	40. Chapter 40

“Ah have a question,” Rocket announced. Bird lowered her magazine, considered Mac and Rocket, then shrugged and returned to her reading. “Where does haggis come from?”

Loo closed his laptop and turned toward the pair with a concerned frown. Mac didn’t miss a beat, “From Scotland, ya numpty.”

“Right,” Rocket continued. “Ah ken that. But _where_?”

Towerblock opened his eyes from where he was sunning himself and shot Bird a wry smile. “Do you think idiocy is like cloud cover? I want an even tan.”

Bird didn’t hide her grin. “I can still read. So it’s bright enough.”

“Be fair, he’s really not bright enough.”

Bird snickered.

“What do ya mean ‘where’?” Mac’s face creased.

“So hamburgers come from cows…”

“Oh God,” Loo murmured.

“And bacon comes from pigs. And wings come from chickens. And mutton is sheep.” Rocket gazed blankly at Mac.

Mac waved a hand, “And?”

“So where does haggis come from?” Rocket repeated, as if Mac was being slow.

“This oughtta be good,” Towerblock muttered.

“Haggis comes from haggis,” Mac answered.

“Oh.” Rocket considered that. “So what’s a haggis?”

“It’s a,” Mac made a round shape with his hands. “Ya know, small and furry. Lives in glens. Like a highland hamster.”

“What glens?”

Bird bit hard on her lower lip to keep from laughing.

“The highland glens.”

Gee made her way into the Det, dusting her hands on her fatigues. “What lives in the glens?”

“Haggis,” Rocket grinned.

Her eyes flicked towards Mac for a moment. “Right.”

“Wee highland hamsters,” Mac nodded sagely.

“I thought they were bigger,” she raised a brow. “More like a chinchilla?”

“Everything’s bigger in Scotland,” Mac gave a dirty smile.

“We tell you that to make you feel better,” Gee patted his shoulder.

“So then, how do we get big haggis?” Rocket frowned.

“Corn-fed, farm raised,” Loo offered. “Well… oat-fed.”

“Ah.”

“Christ, you raise haggis?” Nick pulled out a chair and propped his boots on the table. “Nasty blighters. Had an infestation once in our summer home. Chewed through the cedar closet in the attic of all things. Had to put out traps and everything.”

“Aw,” Rocket made a sad face.

The phone gave a shrill ring and Bird lowered her magazine, glancing at Nick before standing to answer it. Nick turned to Gee, “You alright?”

“Right as rain,” she answered wryly.

“That’s a disturbing answer from you, Paddy.”

“Feck off.”

Nick gave Bird a nod as she listened to the details and confirmed. “Right, shout. Single device, not far enough off the beaten track.”

Nick grinned. “Of course not. Towerblock, do us a favor and find those PONTIs.”

“Boss,” he gave a nod and headed out into the base.

“Oh, Simon!” Rocket grinned broadly. “Have you ever seen a haggis?”

“Haggis?” Simon grimaced. “That boiled stomach-bag of sheep pluck, suet, and oatmeal? Unfortunately, yes.”

“Sheep?” Rocket’s face fell.

“Or calf,” Simon shrugged.

“But…”

Mac shook his head. “Cheers, Skip.”

“What?”

“Nice, Simon,” Nick stood. “Right! Off we fuck.”

“No, what did I say?”

“Well done,” Bird clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve a shout on.” The rest of Bluestone filed out, carrying various bits of equipment.

“What?!” Simon called after them.


	41. Chapter 41

“Oh.”

Bird clapped a hand on Gee’s uninjured shoulder. “Alright?”

Gee frowned. “Towerblock said Hog’s people cleared it?”

“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Nick pushed between them and flicked a cigarette out onto the road. “Hog checked twice. I asked.”

Gee just frowned again and shook her head at the cluster of structures. It wasn’t quite a village, or rather it hadn’t been, abandoned as it was now. “It’s… a lot of buildings.”

Nick swept a hand behind them, “And that’s a lot of shrubs and dirt. Variety is the spice of life, Gee.”

“Where?”

Nick’s face pinched momentarily and he tilted his head. “Two of them. There,” he pointed to the corner of the far building. “And there,” he indicated the road sign at the bend. “I want you, Loo, Bird, and Rocket up front.”

“All of us?” Gee’s brows went up.

“I have Simon and Mac on the empty space,” Nick said simply.

Gee turned to look as Mac shouted at Simon across the hundred yards or so, “Yer bum’s oot the windae ye fuckin’ bampot!”

Rocket huffed out a laugh.

Simon glanced over his shoulder, “Here, boss?”

“Keep going, Simon,” Nick called.

“What did you tell him?” Towerblock asked, sidling up on Nick’s left and crossing his arms.

“Here, boss?”

“A bit further!” Nick shouted back.

“Here?!”

Nick waved him on and dropped his voice low. “Fifty meters further and you’ll be outstanding in a field.”

“IS THIS GOOD?!”

“Honestly, Skip!” Mac snapped.

Towerblock shook his head. “Are you going to tell him that it’s just any field that he happens to be standing in?”

Nick shot him a wounded look, “And ruin the surprise?”

“Skip!” Mac lowered his rifle in exasperation. “Where are ye going?”

“Boss said…”

“You’re going to leave the path, ya roaster!”

“BOSS SAID-“

“Get back here, ya numpty, or Millsey will air drop back over here an do a safety demo again!”

Gee sighed and frowned at Nick. “Mind you don’t end up with him wandering off.”

“That’s grand, Simon!” Nick hollered. He leaned into Gee’s space, “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she flashed teeth in her smile.

“Where do you want to start?” Towerblock cut in.

“Hm,” Nick took a deep breath. “That one!”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Right!” Nick clapped his hands. “Crack on!”

Sherlock watched the entire exchange with interest. Raising a brow as John crossed his arms. “Two whole bombs. How fascinating.”

John’s nose twitched. “You stay behind the mastiff.”

“Oh, yes sir,” Sherlock drawled. Even behind the reflective sunglasses, Sherlock could see John’s eyes tighten. He huffed out a sigh, “Yes, yes. Alright.”

“Boss on the move!”

“I can probably see better from up there,” Loo tipped his head at the structures. “Better vantage point and all.”

Towerblock glanced at him, then back at Medhurst, crouched over the first IED. “Fine.”

Gee watched him head towards the break in the buildings, squinting at the footpath and shadows. “Bird, did Hog’s people go through all the buildings?”

Bird frowned. “Like, inside them?”

“Bird, if you’re going to talk about being inside people, turn off your com!” Nick snapped. “What I’m doing requires concentration.”

“You’ve never let that stop you before,” Bird shot back.

Towerblock snorted.

“And no, Gee, they didn’t go into every single building. That would have taken ages. And these are live bombs. And now I’m losing the light. So if you all would kindly…”

Gee cut him off. “What do you mean they didn’t check them all?”

“Exactly what I said!” Nick snapped.

“Loo, get back!”

Nick stood and dusted himself off, throwing his hands in the air. “Gee! For the love of your papist God, I am trying to work!”

It was a snapping sound, high and metallic, and Sherlock’s head whipped around as the members of Bluestone dove to the ground. But that was all he saw before he found himself nose-to-tire with the front wheel of the mastiff. “Christ, Sherlock,” John hissed, his hand planted firmly at the base of Sherlock’s skull. Another crack and ping as a shot ricocheted off the fender. “We bloody well just talked about this.” And John moved.

“John!” Sherlock grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him back down behind the body of the vehicle. “If I’m not allowed to be an idiot, neither are you!”

“Charlie-Charlie-One!” Bird switched channels as she rolled under the CV, popping out to Sherlock’s left and crouching with the vehicle at her back. “Contact…” She dropped lower as a pair of shots hit the mastiff.

“BOSS!” Simon shouted from across the open space.

“I’m good!” Nick answered. “Stay down and figure out where the fuck that came from?!”

“Probably somewhere in the bloody buildings!” Gee hissed, flattening her back against the nearest one.

“It’s coming from the buildings, Boss!” Simon shouted over the coms.

“Christ, Simon!” Towerblock barked.

Another smattering of bullets peppered the side of the building near Gee’s shoulder, the front end of the mastiff, and dangerously close to the IED.

“Not the bomb! NOT THE BOMB!” Nick scrambled clear of the firing line and tucked down in the shelter of a structure.

“Boss,” Towerblock called.

“Disconnect the charge wire!”

“Y’Sir!” Towerblock pulled the plug from the detonator. Not chancing an accidental detonation.

With the third round of shots, Sherlock found himself relieved to be sandwiched between a tense and rather action ready John and the solid wheel of the mastiff. “How many?”

“At least three,” John hummed, shifting at the sound of gunfire.

“Under no circumstances are you to wander off and get yourself shot,” Sherlock glared at him.

John grinned as he drew his sidearm. “I don’t believe that was our deal.”

“It was in spirit!” He didn’t care if the grip he had on John’s thigh left bruises, he had John’s attention briefly. The loud cry of pain stole it instantly.

“LOO?!”

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Gee glanced around the corner of the building and was nearly shot for her trouble. “Fuck. Loo, stay down!”

Bird was back on the coms, relaying their position.

“John, no!” Sherlock yanked him back down as a smattering of bullets passed overhead.

“I’m not going out there, you git!” John shoved Sherlock’s shoulder, pinning him back against the mastiff. “I’m just trying to draw their fire.”

“Because that’s so much better?!”

Gee darted around the side of the building, dashing through the uncovered space to reach Loo. “Christ!” She planted both hands on the bleed point of his leg as she dropped to her knees, ignoring his shout. “Jesus, Loo.”

“Really hurts,” Loo mumbled.

Gee yelped and tucked in as close to Loo as she could as bullets kicked up dust and plaster just over her shoulder. “Guys! We’re a bit pinned down here!”

“I can't even see you two. Can you move?” Towerblock asked through the coms.

Gee looked down at Loo’s rapidly paling face and shifted one of her hands into the crease of his groin, pressing hard on the artery. “Not quickly. And it’s through exposed space.”

“Hold please,” Nick cut in. “Would someone, preferably in my infantry protection, bloody well shoot those bastards?”

“Right,” Gee muttered. “Loo, look at me, kid. I need you to get the tourniquet out of your vest.”

Loo whimpered.

“Loo, listen. Look at my face,” she continued calmly. “I’ll talk you through it. But I don’t have a free hand. Right?”

Loo nodded.

“Use your left hand. Your tourniquet is in your vest. Take it out, yeah? Good lad.”

Return fire started and they were stuck between the two sides. Gee ducked closer.

“Don’t look at it, look at me.” She smiled gently. “You can feel my hand, now just pass it under your leg above my hand. Good. And, both hands now, pass it through the loop. No, don’t look. Just… There. Perfect. Well done.”

“Gee…”

“Hang on.” She let go of the wound and cinched the tourniquet tight, before twisting the windlass snug. Loo hissed as she finally pulled her hands back. “Ok. Now we just need an exit.” She clicked on her coms, “Lads? How’s it coming?”

“Hang tight there, Gee. We’re still…”

“Fucking now, Medhurst!” Gee snapped.

Rocket made a cheerful sound. “Got one!”

John braced himself off the front of the mastiff and opened fire again. Giving them a brief respite in the crossfire. “We still have two, Captain.”

“What the fuck is that?” Gee hissed.

Loo squinted. “Was going to look at it.”

“Loo… That’s…”

“Gasoline tank. Or propane. Or…”

“Guys we don’t…” Gee’s voice cut out as the automatic fire restarted.

“RPG!” Towerblock shouted.

“Get down!”

“EVERYONE DOWN!”

“Loo, go! Go, go, go!”

“FUCK!”

The building in the middle of the cluster exploded in a ball of fire.


	42. Chapter 42

“Good morning, Sir.” She followed him into the office, heels tapping lightly on the tiled floor. “Did you have a pleasant day off?”

Mycroft arched a brow as he placed his umbrella carefully in the stand.

“Ah, and did the Detective Inspector make better use of the time than you were able?”

“My dear,” he warned.

She suppressed a smile. “Tea then?”

“Please.”

“The Prime Minister of Montenegro is due to arrive in four hours.”

“And are we prepared for the ministry meeting?”

“Of course.”

“Will you shift the resources originally allocated for the Dougal Inquisition to-“

“To the Caine account. I have already arranged that.”

“Ah. Good.”

An office worker, burdened with a large tea service passed behind her and placed the tray carefully on the edge of the desk before leaving silently. She nodded at the pot before taking it upon herself to pour the cups.

“And we have the files for-“

“Sir.”

He sighed. “I am unused to time away.”

She smiled pleasantly. “The world has continued to spin for the past thirty-six hours.”

He snorted. “I can see that.”

“It’s my job, Sir.”

“Could I convince you to see to the efficient operation of our peace-keeping missions in Afghanistan?”

This time she grinned. “You cannot afford the incidentals, Sir.”


	43. Chapter 43

Surviving the second explosion of his short time in Afghanistan was somehow more pleasant than the first. To start, he wasn’t flat on the ground this time and he didn’t feel like his brain had been rattled around in his skull. Then again, bits of masonry and clumps of dried earth were showering down around them. But it seemed that John’s shoulders and back were taking the brunt of it where he’d thrown himself over Sherlock and wedged him against the wheel of the CV.

Sherlock blinked as John pulled back and the brightness of the midday sun returned. John shook his shoulder and gave him a concerned look, lifting his thumb in question. Sherlock tried to pop his ears. Ah, the ringing was back. That was irritating. He gave a nod and returned the gesture and John was gone again. Damn him. Sherlock shook his head to clear it and frowned at the empty field stretching out in front of him. The dust was settling and the members of Bluestone who’d been out in the barren space were gone. Moved in closer. Bird was still off to his side, shouting down the coms. Lansley and McDowell were flat to the ground, aiming at whatever was left of the buildings, picking their shots carefully.

The burst of gunfire broke through the tinnitus and he winced. Hearing was back then. Oh, and the coms were on.

“GEE!”

“Boss?”

“I’m fine! Where the fuck is Gee?!”

“She wasn’t far from where that crater is now.”

A loud round of automatic fire had everyone flinching.

Bird was calm and even on the relay in spite of her language. “Same site, two MIA. No. No! Not aerial support, you knob-end! We need feet on the ground!”

“GEE!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Simon!” Nick snapped. “Would you please take care of the hostile fire!”

“On it, Boss.”

“I’ll be on her.”

“MAC!” A series of shouts cut across the chatter.

“What?!” He shouted back.

“Boss, get back in the mastiff!”

“I would love to, Simon. But strangely, whenever I show my face, someone tries to blow it off. And I swear to God, Mac, if you so much as utter a blow job joke right now…”

“Got one!” Mac crowed.

“Gee?”

“At ten o’clock, first floor window,” John hummed.

Sherlock glanced around in a panic. “John?!”

“I see him,” Towerblock cut in. “Rocket?”

“Aye. Got him.”

There was a lull, a brief calm, then another spatter of gun fire.

“Clear?”

“I think we’re clear.”

“Gee?”

“We have another team en route from the Canteen. They’ve a disposal squad and some Royal Marines to lend a hand.”

“I’ll lend them a hand.”

“Mac!”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Skip, get down!”

“For the love of God, everyone just stay down!”

“Right.”

Sherlock twisted at the sound of John’s voice over the coms. What on earth did he think he was doing?

“Lads, I want you to take flank here and there. Let’s get the ATO back in the CV, yeah?”

“Y’sir.”

They were cautious, controlled as they took their places, watching the buildings for movement. After a moment, John gave a quick nod. “Medhurst, please.” And then he was behind the mastiff with Bird and Sherlock. “Gordo, let’s get you back here too.”

“Yes, Major.”

Sherlock didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until John had joined the Bluestone command behind the pair of vehicles. The infantry were still guarding them from any missed or newly arrived hostiles, eyeing the licks of flame as they escaped the buildings.

John cleared his throat. “Captain?”

“I’m thinking!” Nick snapped. “How long until the messers from Canteen show up?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” Bird offered.

“And how much destruction do we expect them to bring down upon us?”

Towerblock frowned. “They’re not known for their kid gloves out there.”

“And I’ve still got two in the ground and two missing.”

The coms let out a buzz of static.

“Jesus,” Nick grumbled.

“No, wait,” Bird held out a hand.

There was another hiss of noise and a distinct cough. “… fecking hell.”

“Gee?”

“… can some… out of… hand…”

“Gee!” Bird cried.

“… stupid piece of…”

“Captain Mag Aoidh, where are you?” John was on his feet, squinting at the still smoking buildings.

“… bloody… in the… Loo… sonuva….”

“Did she say she was in the loo?” Rocket asked.

“Bird! Fix the coms!”

“It’s not the channel, it’s the com Gee’s wearing.”

“… Goddammit! This fucking hurts like a… clear?”

“Repeat that, Captain.”

“I said,” Gee coughed. “Is it fucking clear? The smoke is bad.”

“You’re clear,” Bird called.

“… coming out… With the…. Don’t fucking shoot me!”

It wasn’t so much that the door opened as it fell from the frame, and Gee stumbled out of the entry, Loo’s arm over her shoulder and a billow of smoke chasing behind.

“Christ,” Towerblock muttered, darting forward and taking Loo’s free arm. “Rocket!” Rocket was there a moment later, relieving Mag Aoidh of Loo’s weight and helping Towerblock haul him to the mastiff.

The moment Gee was freed of her burden; she dropped to her hands and knees and retched, heaving a deep breath of fresh air before grimacing and spitting out a mouthful of foul tasting bile.

“Come on, Captain,” John grabbed her arm and hauled her back up to her feet. “There’s water in the CV.”


	44. Chapter 44

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Right. Explain it to me again.”

“From what I can tell,” Anderson started.

“Not you,” Lestrade cut him off sharply. “You.”

Erikson held out both palms. “Sir, like I told Sergeant Donovan. It really… I’m not even sure… It doesn’t….”

“Take your time,” he said patiently. “Just tell me exactly what you told Donovan.”

“Look, Sir. I… It’s going to sound crazy.” Erikson gave him a pleading look. “I’m going to sound crazy.”

Lestrade gave him a wry smile. “I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”

“He definitely has,” Donovan echoed.

Erikson took a deep breath and held it for a long moment. “Ok.” The air rushed out from between his lips. “Fine. Ok. Fine. I was heading back from a quick smoke break. It was quick. Only five minutes tops. And Walsh was in the car, parked just there at the corner. I could see him. He was on his mobile. And I stubbed out the butt on the wall there. And took one step. And blam!”

Lestrade raised a brow as Erikson smacked his hands together. “Blam?”

“It just… You know,” he waved a hand. “Landed right on the bonnet.”

“The body just landed on the bonnet?”

“Yeah. Like…” He shrugged. “No scream or yell or anything. Just… Blam.”

“Huh.” Lestrade put his hands on his hips and squinted up at the higher floors of the building.

“Right?” Donovan asked softly.

“Suicide,” Anderson muttered.

Donovan crossed her arms. “It’s not.”

“Clearly he jumped.”

Donovan shook her head. “From where?”

“Roof?”

Lestrade frowned. “Who jumps from the roof of an old mill?”

“Who breaks into an old mill, through about seven different locked doors, only to jump off a roof?” Donovan added.

“I still say-”

Lestrade didn’t let him finish. “Clean this up. Get the body back to the lab.”

Anderson muttered something under his breath and stalked off.

“See?”

“Yeah. I see,” Lestrade agreed. “And you’re right. It’s not a suicide.”

“You sure he’s not available?”

Lestrade huffed out a laugh. “Oh yeah. He’s off… somewhere in the sun. We’re on our own on this one.”

“Well it’s right up his bloody street, isn’t it.”

“It is.”

“He picked a hell of a time for a holiday.”

Lestrade grinned. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think he’s enjoying himself too much.”

“Hm,” Donovan considered it. “A little.”

“Right,” Lestrade glanced at the mangled panda car. “Should we give those two a lift back?”

“Seems only fair, Sir.”


	45. Chapter 45

“Water!”

Mac tossed a bottle to John who caught it one handed and settled Gee against the side of the mastiff as Towerblock and Rocket hoisted Loo into the vehicle.

“Get him on a board!” John snapped, then set a hand under Gee’s chin and lowered his voice. “Chin up, close your eyes.”

She coughed and nodded, flinching as the cold water ran over her eyes. “Gonna leave some for me to drink?” It came out as a wheeze, but the thought was clear.

John snorted. “I’ll get you another one. Think you can see?”

She pressed her eyes tight shut for a moment and nodded. “Think so.”

“Holmes! Get in the CV!” He blotted her face with a clean swatch of gauze. “Alright. Open.”

She blinked a few times and squinted at him. “I’m grand.”

“You’re not. But I’ll take it. In,” he handed her the half empty bottle and pointed at the open back of the mastiff.

She took a swig of the water and spat on out the worst of the soot she could taste. “Bird,” she croaked. “Loo needs an urgent evac to Bastion.”

“Shit. Yeah. On it.”

Gee gave a tight nod and clambered into the CV as Towerblock squeezed out.

“Simon! Keep an eye on the cluster fuck out there! I swear to God if another arsehole shoots at me today, I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” Medhurst smacked the side of the mastiff. “Bird! Get me a bloody ETA on these Canteen clowns!”

“Another five, Sir!”

“Right, I’m sick of this hell hole!”

“Boss?” Towerblock asked. “Can we send them now? Loo needs…”

“Go. Bird, get in there! Get a fucking ambulance to Bastion ready. I want someone ready to get Loo the fuck out the moment you arrive!”

“Sir.” Bird gave a nod and pulled herself into the first CV and tugged the door shut, leaving Simon and Mac to guard their ATO and House.

“Sherlock, strap in,” John ordered from his spot on the floor next to Loo.

“Cannula,” Gee held out her hand and had a wad of gloves pressed into her palm. “Really?” She frowned at John, but tugged them on over her already bloody hands and held out her palm again. This time she got what she wanted. “Alright, Loo. You’re doing fine. You’re going to be fine.”

By the time they’d made it back to base, Loo was reasonably comfortable, with a pair of IV cannulas running into each arm, feeding fluids and medication. John had thrown some Wound Seal into the open wound, but left the tourniquet on tight. Rocket was first out the door, taking the foot of the gurney as John took the head. Gee scooted out beside them, holding Loo’s hand firmly as they made their way towards the waiting helo.

“John!”

“I’ll meet you in our bunk!” John called over his shoulder.

“Hello, bitches. What mess have you got for me?”

“Jazz,” Gee held out a fist and knocked if off of hers. “I can’t believe they sent you out to fetch this one.”

“No one else likes you lot well enough to bother,” Jasmine grinned. “What have you got for me?”

“GSW to the left thigh. It’s in deep, no exit. Not an artery, but bloody as all hell. Tourniquet time,” Gee glanced at her watch. “Is nearly an hour now.”

“Fuck, Gee.”

“And there’s Wound Seal in there.”

“You’re a sick bastard, Gee,” Jasmine grinned. “Where’s that tall, lanky bastard that used to carry Medhurst’s bags?”

“In the next CV and still terrified of you, so fuck off, Jazz.” Gee gave Loo’s hand a squeeze, “Jasmine is a friend of mine; she’ll take good care of you.”

“Mm’fked then,” Loo muttered. Gee forced out a laugh.

“Let’s go lads!” Jasmine hollered, taking her place at the side of the Loo’s gurney and heading for the airlift.

The second mastiff pulled in through the barriers, drawing up alongside the first; the remainder of Bluestone piled out into the yard just as Loo was off. Gee flinched, shielding her face with a hand as the helo left the ground, tracing their progress until she could no longer see the chopper. John uncrossed his arms and stripped the nitrile gloves from his hands. “Right. Captain, I want you in the med tent now.”

“If I told you the blood isn’t mine?” she asked hopefully.

John raised a brow. “All of it?”

Gee sighed and gave a nod. “Yeah… alright.”


	46. Chapter 46

Nick paced from one side of his bunk to the other, paused, executed a military pivot, and stalked to other side. It wasn’t quite enough. He did it again. And again. And again. He drew up in front of his bed, planted his hands on his hips and released a long sigh, letting his head drop. “Nope,” he muttered. And picked up the nearest object and hurled it against the wall with a frustrated shout.

“Fucking hell, Nick!” Bird froze in the doorway. “What the fuck?”

He frowned ferociously for a moment, but rubbed a hand down his face and the expression was gone. “In my defense, that book is a crime against literature.”

Bird toed the cover face-up and raised a brow. “Ivan Denisovich is bad literature?”

“It is three-hundred and forty-eight pages of nothing but punishment,” Nick said blandly.

“You haven’t read Dostoyevsky then, have you?”

The corner of Nick’s mouth flicked up. “Into crime thrillers?”

Bird stooped and rescued the book from the floor. “Seriously, what the hell?”

Nick shrugged. “Oh, you know, just expressing myself the way generations of high society, British men have learned to do.”

“Pointless outburst of repressed anger and stupidity?”

“And racism?” Nick tilted his head. “And I ought to get back to it. What do you want, Bird?”

“Message from HQ. Loo is in surgery, but they’re giving an early thumbs up.”

“Well isn’t that a lovely shine on the flaming pile of shit today has been.”

Bird tossed him the book. “Don’t take this out on me. It’s not my fault.”

“It’s not my fault either!” he roared back.

“I never said it was!”

“Do you think I’m under any illusion that anyone thinks anything else?!”

Bird stared for a moment. “Up your arse, Nick.” And she stormed out of the bunk.

“No, wait! Bird! Come back!” He only made it a few steps outside before colliding with Mary. “Christ!”

Mary pulled back indignantly. “Nick.”

“Mary,” he greeted impatiently.

“Is everything alright? I heard that…” she trailed off at the expression on his face.

Nick pressed his lips together firmly to avoid making a rude sound. Then he took a breath. “Listen, Mary, I would love to stand here. And talk. And…” He tilted his head and squinted as Mac and Rocket carefully placed a pristine looking porcelain toilet next to the couch in the Det. He shook his head. “My to do list is a growing compilation of apologies and medal write-ups. And I swear to God, if Gee is right one more fucking time…”

“What was Muireann right about?”

“It doesn’t matter. But she owes me one, massive, ‘I told you so.’ So if you’ll excuse me, I ought to go take my medicine.”

“You know she’s in the med tent,” Mary said cautiously.

“When isn’t she there?”

“No. Nick. She’s in the med tent with Major Watson. She was limping.”

“Dammit!”

“What?”

“She’ll get a VC at this rate. For fuck’s sake!” He strode off towards the med tent and past the Det.

Rocket adjusted the position of the toilet carefully. With reverence.

Towerblock came in from the equipment room at the back and looked at the toilet with confusion. “What’s that for?”

Rocket gave him an innocent look. “It’s a memorial.”

“To our nobly fallen comrade,” Mac added, turning to salute the toilet. “To Loo.”

“Aye,” Rocket added and saluted. “Loo.”

“Jesus,” Towerblock shook his head.


	47. Chapter 47

“How exactly did you do this?”

Mag Aoidh winced and draped her right arm over her eyes. “Feck. I don’t know. Probably the window.”

“The window that you shot out, hefted an injured squad member up over the ledge of, and then dove through to avoid getting caught in a gasoline explosion? Do I have that right?”

She hummed and kept her eyes closed as John continued to suture the laceration on her thigh. “Yes?”

He tutted.

“Yes, Sir?”

That drew a snort of laughter from him. “Don’t be smart.”

“I doubt that’s my problem, Major.”

“As I deeply suspect you wouldn’t have told anyone about this lac and I’m now putting the tenth stitch into you in as many days, I’m going to grant you that one.”

She sighed, “It’s the small victories, Sir.”

John chuckled. “I see. Will I wrap this? Or…”

“I was hoping to take a shower. I’m covered in soot and grit. And frankly, I really, really don’t like the smell of gasoline fires.”

“Dry dressing then.” He carefully smoothed a waterproof bandage over the top and snapped off his gloves. “Up you get. I want to have a look at your shoulder again and have a listen to your lungs.”

She groaned and dropped her arm from her eyes. “Can’t I just bugger off and shower?”

John cocked a brow. “No. Now up.”

She pushed off her right arm as John took her left. It was an innocent action, but she snapped her hand back in a hiss of pain. “Bollocks!”

John caught her shoulder and kept her upright, giving her a long, unrelenting stare.

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and tried to settle the shaking in her hand. “Feckin hell.”

John took her elbow and gingerly drew back the sleeve, a sigh escaping as he eyed the burn. “Not going to mention this one either?”

“It’s not that bad,” she mumbled.

John shook his head slowly and pulled a bowl from the nearest shelf. “Christ, you’re worse than Sherlock.” He filled it with tepid water and set it down on the cot. “Soak it. Now.” She shifted the bowl onto her lap and managed to submerge her whole forearm. John planted his hands on his hips. “Twenty minutes. Then jelonet and gauze. And I’m changing that dressing in forty-eight hours.”

She gave a short nod. “Y’sir.”

“I don’t…” John bit back the harsh scolding on the tip of his tongue. “Why do you insist on ignoring your own health?” he asked finally.

Gee shook her head, “I’m not-”

“You are,” John cut her off. “And you damn well know better. Your health and fitness is as important, if not more so than those you serve with.”

“I’m not that important.”

John scoffed. “What would have happened to Private Llewellyn if you hadn’t let me pull that shrapnel out? What if you were febrile? Delirious? When you developed osteomyelitis from the glass I just dug out of your thigh?” John pressed his lips into a tight line. “You think I don’t know what could have happened to Sherlock if you’d been slower?”

Gee shifted her fingers nervously along the rim of the bowl. “I… It’s not that… This… You don’t…”

He crossed his arms. “There are easier ways to kill yourself than what you’re doing.”

Gee’s eyes snapped up to meet his, her objection dying a quick and silent death.

“Going home injured isn’t much better,” John said flatly. When it became clear that Gee didn’t have an answer for that, John sighed and ran a hand roughly over his face. “Ok. Ok. Why here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You requested the transfer to Frost.”

Gee nodded.

“You were in Bastion. I can’t imagine you were bad at your job. In fact, I’d think you were getting a good deal of experience. So why here?”

Gee frowned and picked at her sleeve, saving it from dropping into the bowl. “I was tired.”

“Get more sleep here, do you?”

Gee snorted.

“Nope,” John squinted at her. “I don’t buy that. Why here?”

“I… I was tired. It was… It was busy. I was working a lot. I was getting loads of experience. Then it just became this-this unrelenting tide of bodies. Cut this, sew that, hack that limb, this one won’t make it, oh look another and another and…” Gee shrugged her good shoulder. “I wasn’t seeing people anymore.”

John nodded slowly. “Conveyer belt.”

“And home was just… Not home. And I felt like I was unmoored or something. I needed people again.”

“And how is that working out here?”

Gee released a long breath up at the ceiling. “Loo was my friend.”

“Yeah.”

“And it hurts.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“But I’m glad it hurts.”

“Would you have tolerated a burning building again long enough for someone that wasn’t a friend?”

Gee shuddered. “No.”

“Alright, arm out.” He held out a towel to blot her arm and began laying the jelonet across the burns. He worked quietly, smoothing the gelled mesh up the length of her forearm.

“Gee!”

Both she and John jumped at the sudden and loud intrusion. “The feck?”

“Godammit, Gee, if I have to keep trying to find you-”

“What do you want, Nick?” she asked tiredly.

“What did you do to your arm?”

John shook his head and turned to retrieve some gauze. “That is absolutely none of your business, Captain.”

Nick pulled back with an indignant expression. “Well, it is.”

Gee sighed. “It’s nothing.”

John spun around sharply. “It IS something. And say what you like, but I’m grounding the whole of Bluestone for a week.”

Gee struggled to her feet. “Sir!”

“You can’t do that,” Nick retorted petulantly.

“Can’t I?” John flashed a smile. “Have you any idea why I’m actually here, Captain Medhurst?”

“I can only assume to be a right pain in my arse.”

“Out,” John said firmly.

“Oh no. You can’t kick me out, not if I leave first!” Nick crossed his arms.

“Major, it’s fine,” Gee tried to interject.

John twisted, dropping his voice low. “Sit.”

Gee sat.

“Now as for you,” John glared at Nick. “I highly recommend you turn around and walk out of this tent and retain what shred of dignity I will grant you. Or I will literally throw you out of here.”

Nick shifted. “Literally?”

“Literally.”

Nick narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. “Two days.”

“Two weeks,” John countered.

“Five days.”

“One week. Final offer.”

Nick’s face scrunched. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“You’re down one and a half squad members, tell me again how I’m being ridiculous.”

“Fine!” Nick snapped. “Bloody extortion!” he turned on his heel and stomped out of the med tent, straight across to the Det.

“Boss?” Towerblock gave a small nod, adjusting his stance as he noted Nick’s mood. “Cuppa?”

Nick dropped onto the nearest chair. “Please.”

“On it.”

He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his neck, turning to gaze out at the yard as a fresh cup of coffee was placed in front of him. “Towerblock?”

“Yah?”

“Is that a toilet?”

“Yup.”

“Why is there a toilet in the Det?”

“Well… It… It’s a Loo.”

“A loo.”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

“Mmn.”

Nick took a sip of his coffee. “In other news, I don’t think that Major likes me at all.”


	48. Chapter 48

“Look, I’m sorry to… Interrupt… I know you’re busy. I Just…. Look, give me a call back when you can?” Lestrade disconnected the call with a sigh.

“No luck?”

He started as Donovan appeared in the doorframe. “Jesus, are you trying to kill me?”

Donovan grinned. “Just keeping you on your toes. No luck though?”

Lestrade shook his head. “Neither of them seem to be available to answer their bloody phones. You get anything out of forensics?”

“Anderson came up empty.”

“This is going nowhere fast. Where are we on the Reilly case?”

“A little better.” She dropped into the chair across from him and outlined their progress.

By the time she was done, he felt the impending headache drumming in his temples. “Right. Ok, fine. Take whatever resources you need and go after the Reilly thing. I’ll… figure something out for this one.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yup,” he waved her out of the office and resumed his careful review of what they actually did have. It was very little. Two hours later and four past when he was due to leave, he wasn’t any further along. “Well that was a productive use of my time,” he muttered towards the near empty bullpen. Then he tugged on his coat and headed out the door.

Three steps down the pavement and a black sedan pulled quietly to the curb. Lestrade glared at it briefly, shot a longing glance in the direction of the pub, but grudgingly climbed into the back of the car.

“Good evening.”

“Mycroft,” he nodded. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mycroft blinked. “You did call.”

It wasn’t a question and he knew better than to answer. “I asked you to call back.”

“Perhaps I was otherwise occupied.”

“Until the literal second I walked out of the Yard?”

Mycroft threaded his fingers together and rested them across his lap. “And if that were the case?”

“Bullshit.”

He raised a brow. “Gregory…”

Lestrade sighed and rubbed at his temples. “Any chance your brother is back in the country?”

“Not as of yet. Might I be of service in his place?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Do you like suicides that make no sense? Because this is more his street than yours.”

“Ah.”

In the ensuing silence, it slowly dawned on Lestrade that the single syllable carried more weight than he’d first noticed. He glanced up. “No, Mycroft-”

“I’m afraid it’s classified. You understand. I assure you-“

“I spent all bloody day on this!”

“That the Queen’s government is more than-“

“I had my best sergeant and constable out on the street!”

“Happy to comp-“

“You couldn’t call and tell me that I didn’t need to worry, you pillock?!”

“-ensate you for your time.”

Greg stared angrily at him. Mycroft blinked a few additional times. “You know what?” He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Just…”

“The tension is giving you a headache.”

“You think?!”

“Gregory.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“Dinner?”

“I was going to the pub.”

“I know. That wouldn’t have improved the state of your head.”

“It might of.”

“It wouldn’t.” He raised a brow when Greg finally met his gaze. “Dinner. One glass of wine.”

“Glass of whiskey.”

Mycroft tilted his head in acquiescence. “Bath.”

“Massage.”

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “Both.”

“Apology accepted.”

“The Queen’s government does not apologise for-“

“It damn well does if it knows what’s good for it.”

“Extortion.”

“Remittance.”

“And we have come full circle to your vocabulary once again.”

Greg cracked a smile.


	49. Chapter 49

_John._

“Hey,” John pushed through the door to the bunk. “Sherlock, I’m absolutely-“

“John!”

John grunted as the unexpected weight of six full feet of lanky detective barreled into him and knocked him back against the wall. It may have been unanticipated, but John was still buzzing with adrenaline and irritated with provoking conversation and itchy from the necessary medical work. He twisted, pivoting sharply and rolling the incoming body over his hip and into the wall in his place.

“John?”

“Christ, Sherlock!” John released his arms and took a few quick paces back. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“I… I just.”

“God, you can’t…” He sighed and dropped onto his cot. “You can’t just jump out at people.”

“I didn’t jump out at you. I was talking to you.”

“I wasn’t here, you git.”

Sherlock frowned and rubbed his shoulder absently. “I was talking to you.”

John sighed again. “You have to stop talking to me when I’m not here. We’ve been over this. And while we’re on the subject, rushing someone in the middle of a warzone is a terrible idea.”

“So I’ve noticed. And I’ve been assured, this isn’t actually a warzone.”

John snorted. “My point stands. Is your arm alright?”

“Fine. How’s yours?”

“Mine?” John raised a brow.

“What with all the debris that must have hit you.”

“What? You mean when I made sure you didn’t get leveled by another explosion?”

Sherlock’s face scrunched. “You were trying to draw their fire!”

“I distinctly recall having to keep you down behind the engine block before you were able to draw their fire.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You went out without cover to protect Medhurst!”

“Sherlock,” John shook his head. “I was doing my job.”

“No, you weren’t!”

“Sherlock.”

“You,” Sherlock poked a finger at John’s chest. “Insist on repeatedly putting yourself in danger.”

John huffed out a laugh.

“Marching headlong into the line of fire!” His finger wavered dangerously under John’s nose.

John frowned. “Well that’s rich coming from you.”

“I am being serious, John!”

“So am I,” John said flatly.

“No,” Sherlock tightened a fist in his hair. “You’re not listening to me!”

“I don’t think you’re listening to yourself,” John countered. “Do you remember what you promised?”

“I didn’t promise so that you could go and get yourself shot!”

“Yeah, I’m edging back up towards livid.”

“At me? You’re being absurd!”

John eyed the hand now gripping his shoulder. “Sherlock.”

“You don’t get to jump out in front of every bullet, John!”

“I’m not-“ John hesitated as a second hand joined the first.

“It is not acceptable.”

“Sherl-“ John started as Sherlock gave him a shake.

“You can’t!”

“Sherlock.”

“You can’t.” Sherlock’s grip tightened as he climbed onto the cot, framing John’s hips with his knees.

“Sherlock, wha? What are you…?”

“John.” He cupped John’s face between his palms, eyeing him intently. “You. Cannot.”

A flicker of a soft smile played across John’s face. “I’m fine, Sherlock.”

“John.”

“I’m fine, yeah? You’re fine. I’m fine. You’re just coming down a bit.”

Sherlock’s trembling forehead dropped to rest against John’s and he whined.

“It’s normal to be shaken. This is fine. We’re fine,” he dropped a hand onto the back of Sherlock’s head.

“John.”

“It’s alright. We’re fine.”


	50. Chapter 50

Gee made her way cautiously into the Det, focusing carefully on not spilling her coffee.

“Morning?” Bird greeted with a mug salute of her own.

Gee grunted and sighed as she settled into the chair next to her. “Is it?

Bird smiled. “You still limping?”

“Yeah, a little.”

Bird hummed. “If it makes you feel better-”

“Not much is going to make me feel better right now,” Gee interrupted, muttering into her coffee.

“Oh?” Bird’s smile stretched into a grin. “You’re not the only one limping around today.”

Gee frowned. “Mac and Towerblock finally consummate their torrid love affair?”

“Don’t we all wish.” Bird snickered. “But no.”

Gee raised a brow, “The Major and his… friend?”

Bird gazed off in the direction of their bunk. “Now that’s a thought.”

Gee managed a wry smile. “Don’t tell me the Padre finally dicked down Medhurst.”

“Shut up!” Bird laughed and smacked Gee’s arm. Gee winced and tipped her head in acquiescence. “No. I meant that Loo is limping around.”

“No.”

“Well, no, not really. But he’s out of surgery. They relayed in that they were going to keep him in ICU for a day, then all going to plan, they want to ship him home.”

Gee released a heavy breath. “Thank God.”

“Mmn,” Bird hummed into her coffee.

“So… let me guess then,” Gee squinted at the toilet next to the couch.

“Is that a loo in the middle of the Det?”

They startled and Bird shot to her feet.

Gee wasn’t as quick and a hand fell on her shoulder, keeping her in the chair. “Don’t get up, Captain.” He nodded to Bird, “At ease Corporal.”

“Colonel, cuppa?” Bird offered.

“Thank you,” he lifted his own mug. “I have one. Just an explanation, if you please.”

“It… Is a loo, Sir,” Bird offered.

“Ah.” The lieutenant colonel nodded once. “Clever. Carry on.”

Gee watched him leave with a half grin. “Is he even stationed here?”

“His Humvee is here,” Bird answered with a shrug.

“That the Colonel?”

“Yup,” Bird gave Towerblock a sunny smile.

“Didn’t say we had to get rid of the jacks, did he?”

“Nope.”

“Ya didn’t have ta explain it to him?”

“Not at all.”

“Huh.”

“What are we actually going to do with it?” Gee asked.

“Just leave it there, I think,” Towerblock offered.

“How long until Mac and Rocket convince Simon to use it?”

“Bird!”

“Three days,” Gee offered flatly.

“Ah, they could do better,” Towerblock huffed.

“’Course,” Gee smiled into her coffee. “But it’ll be two days before they stop treating it like a shrine, and half a day to realize what they could be using it fer.”


	51. Chapter 51

“Simon,” Padre gestured to the chair opposite him. “Can I have a word?”

Simon pouted and gave a nod.

“Is everything… alright?”

He scoffed.

“I mean. It sounds like it’s been a stressful few days.” Mary offered tentatively.

“You think?”

She sighed at him. “Look. I know things are… more tense than usual. And I was very sorry to hear that Private Llewellyn was shot. It sounds like he was very lucky that Captain Mag-”

“Aren’t we all just so lucky that Gee is there. All the time. Saving Loo. Saving Nick. Punching me in the face.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Simon asked bitterly. “She’ll get a medal for punching me in the face.”

“That’s not true and-”

“Even Loo is going to get an MC for getting himself shot.”

“Simon.”

“And I’m just going to sit here... Wasting away… And not getting into Sandhurst.”

“Simon, be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?!”

“I don’t think Loo wanted to get shot. And I don’t think Mag Aoidh wanted that to happen either.”

“Maybe that’s where you’re wrong,” Simon stood and turned to leave. “Haven’t you noticed that everything turned to rubbish the moment she showed up?”

“Simon,” Mary tilted her head in a placating manner.

“Think about it.” He tapped the table in emphasis then spun on his heel. The effort of storming off would have been more dramatic if he hadn’t tripped over an off set chair on the way out of the DFAC.

Mary sighed as he stalked through the yard and disappeared.

“He’s got a point,” Mac dropped into the seat across from her.

“Aye,” Rocket joined him.

“Not reasonable though,” Mac shook his head. “Skip isn’t reasonable.”

“No,” Rocket shook his head as well.

“And you think that’s Muireann’s fault?” Mary asked in confusion.

“Nope,” Mac grinned. “Skip just doesn’t see it that way. He has it all backwards in his head.”

“Aye,” Rocket agreed.

“What do you mean backwards?”

“Causation and correlation,” Rocket said with a sage nod.

“Aye, that.” Mac nodded. “Timing.”

“Oooh, are ye gonna eat that?” Rocket plucked a roll from the plate Simon had abandoned and managed to shove the whole thing in his mouth in a single go.

Mac frowned at him. “Yer gob is a mystery to science.”


	52. Chapter 52

“You’re in a chipper mood this morning.”

Lestrade frowned, doing his best to keep his shoulders from bunching with tension. “Am I?” No need to undo all the good work done the night before.

Sally waved a hand. “You look all… Rested. It’s disgusted. Go away.”

“Strong coffee and a cold shower.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Liar.”

He snorted. “Trust me. Works wonders. Now where are we with the Reilly case?”

“Where are we with the non-suicide Jumpy McJumperson?”

He frowned again. “I told you I’d take care of it.”

“Did you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Reilly. Sally. Now.”

She shrugged. “Just asking. We managed to get two solid leads and one really vague hint at the possibility of an eyewitness. Gregson is chasing that last one down, more because he knows the ins and outs of Whitechapel better than Dimmock.”

“And less because…” Lestrade offered.

“Less because I hate him and wanted him pissing into the wind,” she offered frankly.

Lestrade offered a half grin before he thought better of it. “Bold. We chase down our own leads, Donovan.”

“Oh, I know,” she grinned. “I’ve a guy named Habbas who puts Reilly outside a pub in Clapham about ten minutes before this whole nonsense with the van started… just down the road from that pub.”

This time Lestrade gave her a wide smile. “Now that’s the pit-bull sergeant I hired. Any friends at the pub with him?”

Donovan gave a nod the direction of the interrogation rooms. “Patel is just bringing him in now. You want first crack?”

“Not at all. I think this one’s yours.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Her grin was nearly feral. “Speaking of mine and yours…”

“Don’t.”

“I just want to know…”

“Sally, no.”

“Is it work or something else?”

“Is what work?”

“Why you’re spending so much time with Holmes the elder.”

Lestrade winced. “They took the jumper case.”

“They?”

“They who do not have names. So drop it?”

“Ah, that’s why you were getting into that government car last night?”

“Donovan,” his grumble was a warning.

“Right. So… not our case anymore. Hence Reilly.”

“Hence Reilly,” he echoed.

She sighed and stood, heading towards the back rooms. “You sure you don’t want a shot at this bloke?”

He waved her off. “Your lead, your chat. I’m here if you need me.”

“Cheers, Boss.” She paused just in the door of his office. “Did he at least thank you for all your hard work?”

“Did who?”

“Make it worth your time?” She made a rude gesture with her hand.

“Out!”


End file.
